


Under His Skin

by dreadmyquill



Category: Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Tortured Peter Parker, Worried Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-08-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 52,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25190824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreadmyquill/pseuds/dreadmyquill
Summary: After the events of Civil War, Tony avoided Peter for the kid's own safety. At least until Homecoming and the Vulture happened and Tony realized Spider-Man was never going to just be content with stopping petty theft and rescuing cats. For the past several months, Tony has allowed Peter to spend much of his time at the Avenger's compound, but most of the team (with the exception of Bruce Banner) knows Peter only as Spider-Man. Tony had hoped that keeping the kid close and deciding which missions he attended would protect him from trouble, but he never expected Peter to be kidnapped while the rest of the team was out fighting crime. With Peter taken, and demands for high-powered weapons coming from his captors, the clock is ticking for Tony. As he and the Avengers search for the missing hero, Tony is sent video after video of Peter's extreme torture. Peter is breaking before his eyes, and Tony becomes increasingly frantic to save the kid before it's too late. Will Peter and Tony come back from this, or has the scarring gone too deep?
Relationships: Peter Parker & Avengers Team, Peter Parker & Tony Stark
Comments: 29
Kudos: 293





	1. Chapter 1

The whole thing had gone wrong from the start. The mission itself was a setup, a ruse to distract the inhabitants of the compound. Mr. Stark, despite adamant protests, had not even allowed Peter to accompany them. He’d been ordered to stay behind, to keep “lookout” and practice his more advanced suit settings while the real Avengers did the work. He’d been pouty after watching them jet off without him, climbing up the side of the watch tower and beginning to gripe at Karen once he’d crawled inside. She was supportive as always, as her programming ensured, but her words didn’t actually make him feel any better.

He knew when Mr. Stark told him to stay behind and keep lookout that the man didn’t actually expect him to do anything. That’s why he was so surprised when, while spinning circles in a swivel chair, a movement from the lawn caught his eye. A large white van pulled right up to the compound, and, instead of radioing Mr. Stark or anyone, he stupidly climbed back down to investigate. He thought he was being stealthy when he snuck around the side of the van and climbed onto its roof, waiting for its inhabitants to exit so he could launch a surprise interrogation, but they had been ahead of him the whole time.

From out of nowhere a large, purple stream of light shot through the vehicle’s roof. There was no warning, and no time to dodge. The beam didn’t hurt, not exactly, as it collided with his body, but it threw him down on the lawn and broke immediately into ropes of light. They were warm, slightly too warm to be comfortable, and slid up his arms and down his legs, tightly tethering his wrists together in front of his body as well as securing his ankles.

He struggled against the glowing, purple restraints, but every resistance only caused them to tighten their hold. Whatever the material was, he was realizing quickly it was stronger than he. He stopped fighting and found his momentum, leaning back and then throwing his body upward onto his feet, his ankles still bound tightly together. If he aimed right, he could still activate his web shooters. He watched the van, waiting for the doors to open, but was never given the chance. The window of the passenger side rolled down no more than an inch before something fired quickly in his direction. He dodged it easily, and glanced down at the ground to see a small dart resting on the grass.

“You’ll have to be faster than that!” he taunted, but regretted his words a moment later when the back windows also lowered and ten darts shot at him together. He dodged the first round, but it was immediately followed by another. The restraints were slowing him down, and it wasn’t long before he felt a sharp sting in his shoulder. The pain wasn’t bad, but he became instantly aware of a tingling sensation rushing through his veins. In a moment everything went numb, and he felt his body hit the ground without ever realizing he was falling. He heard the van doors opening at the same time his vision began to go blurry.

“Karen,” his tongue was feeling heavy in his mouth as he struggled to hold onto consciousness.

“Peter, a foreign substance has entered your bloodstream. It appears to be a form of paralytic mixed with an unknown compound. Shall I run your vitals for you?”

“Just ‘all ‘ister Stark,” he slurred out.

“Calling Tony Stark.”

The phone rang twice before Mr. Stark’s face lit up inside his mask. Peter’s vision was so blurry he could barely make out the shapes. “Not a good time, Pete.”

“...’own,” he mumbled, fighting hard to stay awake. He felt hands on his shoulders.

“What?” Mr. Stark said, finally sounding a little concerned.

“Down. ‘M down.”

“Did you say you’re down? Down how?” He heard the words but was unable to answer. “What’s going on? Peter? Peter!”

Tony Stark shouting his name was the last thing he heard before everything went dark.

___

When Peter woke up it was to cold. He was lying on something hard and freezing, and his head was pounding. His stomach sank when he tried to reach toward his head and realized his arms were restrained at his sides. His eyes snapped open and he looked around, trying to ignore the remaining fog and dizziness.

He seemed to be a large, poorly lit warehouse. The walls were metal, the ceilings were high, and he was surrounded by machinery and wooden crates. The whole place smelled like old wood, and there were only four buzzing fluorescents lighting the entire building. He groaned when he finally looked down at himself. He was lying on something metal, probably a factory work table, and was secured to it with the same glowing, purple ropes that had already proven impossible to break. They were wrapped around each of his wrists and ankles, holding him securely on his back and giving him very little room to shift. Like before, when he began struggling they only tightened. He went still after only a minute.

Despite the fact that his restraints were just a step down from burning against his skin, he realized he was shivering slightly. The table and room were cold, and he finally noticed why. His spidey suit was gone. He had been stripped down to nothing but his boxers, and his web shooters were nowhere to be found. Great. He laid still, staring at the ceiling as his vision slowly cleared. He needed to think of a plan, but was unable to get far when he heard the sound of approaching footsteps. Before long, three men were stationed at the foot of the table where he laid.

“Hello, Peter,” one of the men finally spoke. He was wearing a cheap-looking brown suit and appeared to be in his late fifties. He wore large, silver-rimmed glasses and had a gray mustache that matched his hair. Not exactly the most threatening figure.

“Okay, so you know me,” he said, trying to keep his voice light. He was grateful he no longer seemed to be having trouble speaking. “But who are you?”

The man chuckled, softly. “You may call me Bill.”

“Well I’ve kinda gotta ask, why am I here, Bill?”

“To hurt.” He felt his heart skip at the man’s easy reply, but he forced himself to remain calm.

“Without even finishing the introductions?” He nodded toward the other two men. One of them was large and muscular and looked the typical gym-fanatic-turned-criminal. Shaved head, wife beater, tattoos; the whole thing. The other guy was smaller and skinny, wearing a pressed button down, khakis, and thick glasses. Science geek for sure.

“Oh, you will know them both quite well by the end of the day,” Bill said.

“Would it matter if I asked why I’m here to hurt? Is it the Spider Man thing, because honestly I’m just a friendly neighborhood Spider Man. I don’t even usually cause that much trouble.” He wanted to keep them talking. The longer they chatted, the more time the rest of the team had to figure out where he was.

“You’re not shy about your identity,” Bill said.

Peter shrugged the best he could, but felt the ropes around his wrists tighten at the motion. “You sort of already took my suit.”

“Yes,” Bill said. “My apologies, but we needed the exposed skin. You’ll understand.”

At that he gestured to the skinny man, who raised a tall jar into Peter’s line of sight. It was filled with a pale, purple liquid and dozens of long, skinny needles. The man set it on a nearby rolling cart that Peter then realized was carrying a number of jars and metal instruments. He pulled on a pair of black, leather gloves before unscrewing the lid and pulling one, thin needle from the liquid that had to be at least five inches long.

“Woah, woah, woah,” Peter said quickly when the man leaned over him, beginning to press around his ribs with his free hand. “Can’t we talk about this?” They all ignored him, and in a moment the science guy slid the needle under his skin in a practiced motion, horizontally so that the entire needle rested just below the skin on the left side of his lower ribs.

Peter sucked in a strangled gasp the moment the point punctured his skin. It was just a needle. A long needle, true, but he hadn’t expected it to be anything special. He had been very wrong. He laid back, eyes wide and staring at the ceiling, feeling the ropes around his ankles tighten as he involuntarily tried to kick his legs. The needle might as well have been coated in acid. A deep, burning itch radiated from beneath his skin, spreading across his torso and down into his bones. He’d never felt anything like it.

“That’s one,” Bill said, snapping Peter’s attention back to him. He was panting, but otherwise tried to ignore the pain in his chest when he met the man’s gaze.

“I still don’t get it.” He was glad he managed to keep his voice steady. “Why are you doing this?”

“We’ll talk more in a little while,” Bill said. “Alex here has fifty nine needles to go. I’ll be back when they’re all beneath your skin.”

“What? Hey, no!” He shouted after Bill and the muscle man as they turned to go, and didn’t even realize that the skinny guy, Alex, apparently, was already holding a second needle. As it entered the skin above his stomach, all thoughts of talking immediately left him. He gasped again, loudly, and squeezed his eyes shut. The needles were barely beneath his skin, and yet the fiery pain they left penetrated deep into muscle and bone. They were two needles in and it was already the worst thing he had ever felt. He had no idea how he was supposed to handle sixty needles, but was beginning to realize he wasn’t going to have a choice.

Alex continued his work, expressionless and silent. Peter finally started screaming after the fifth needle. It was too much. His entire body was burning from the inside out. After a while he stopped counting, getting lost in the pain and silently praying that the team would find him before the jar was empty.


	2. Chapter 2

It hadn’t taken the Avengers long to realize they had been set up. Especially after Peter’s phone call. They were in the process of rushing toward the pod of purple, shimmering monsters moving in on the city when Tony announced that he had received a disturbing message. He sent Sam back to check on Spider Man and the compound while the rest of them continued onward with the mission. It was twenty minutes later that they found out they were fighting mist. The monsters weren’t real. They were nothing but shimmers that dissolved into nothing the second they were touched.

It had been a diversion, and Tony didn’t wait for everyone to load back into the jet, instead flying back ahead to the compound. He must have called Peter thirty times on the way back, but the kid never answered. At the speed he was traveling Sam didn’t beat him there by much. There were tire marks and a number of small darts spread across the lawn, but no sign of Peter. Tony cussed. Someone had laid a trap and he had pranced right into it, leaving Peter behind to deal with the consequences. Whoever did this had gone to great lengths to get the kid alone. He needed to know why.

As soon as the rest of the team returned, they immediately began talking strategy. Banner took the darts to the lab to figure out what substance had been strong enough to take down Spider Man, while everyone else began watching the security footage from the front lawn.

“That’s the same stuff those monsters were made of,” Nat said as they watched Peter attacked by the glowing ropes.

“Looks like it,” Steve said. “Except it’s doing more than making mirages.” They all went silent as they watched Peter struggle fruitlessly against his restraints, and then manage several impressive maneuvers despite his binds. Of course it didn’t end up mattering when the darts kept coming, and he ended up an unmoving mass on the ground.

“FRIDAY,” Tony spoke quickly when three figures climbed from the van and lifted the limp body from the ground. They were all men, but none of their faces were clear from the angle of the footage. “I want facial recognition, I want the plates run, and I want it now.”

“Yes, sir, but it could take time.”

“How long?”

“Estimated time; one hour.”

“Just let me know when you have something.” He watched the footage of Peter being loaded into the van, and then all of them driving away and out of sight.

Steve appeared beside him. “Do you have any idea what the motive could be for this?”

“I have a thought,” Tony said. “But I don’t like it. If I’m right, we’ll know soon.” He didn’t say it, but he hoped beyond hope he was wrong. 

___

Peter wasn’t even aware when it stopped. His entire body was such a mass of burning, aching tissue, that it made no difference when the needles finally finished slipping beneath his flesh. They were everywhere. His chest, his stomach, his hips, his arms, his legs, and even his palms. They were nowhere near his bones, and yet he felt them there. They itched. They stung. They burned.

The ropes about his wrists and ankles were also biting deep into his skin. He hadn’t been able to hold still while Alex inserted needle after needle, and his restraints had only grown tighter as a result. He had been screaming, almost without a break, for what felt like a very long time.

“Shut up. It’s done.” Alex’s sharp words actually startled him into silence. It was the first he had spoken. He was removing his gloves and reaching for a radio on the cart. “They’re in,” he spoke into it. Peter couldn’t hear the response, and he wasn’t sure he cared. He picked a spot on the ceiling, an ugly yellow water stain, and concentrated his focus there. No more screaming. He needed to get a grip. He had to find better ways of coping with pain, or he simply wasn’t going to make it.

“Beautiful!” Peter started at the exclamation and the sound of hands clapping together once. He’d been slightly successfully ignoring his body, but his startled jolt brought it all back. He moaned long and low, watching Bill and his muscled companion reappear at the end of the table. “Ready for that chat now, Peter?”

He didn’t want to say anything, but he knew he had to. “What is your plan, here?” His voice was choked and shaky. He hated it.

“You’ll see,” Bill said.

“But what do you want?” He had said he wanted to “chat.”

“We’re going to make a video. For Mr. Stark.”

“What?” Peter gasped. He hadn’t known what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t that. He watched as the big man produced a phone and began filming him. He didn’t understand.

“Hello, Tony,” Bill said, walking to stand by Peter’s head so he was in the shot. “Bill here. Bill Murphy. Remember me? I think it’s time we have another discussion about that arms deal I proposed. If I recall, the last time we had this conversation you asked me to go somewhere hot and then called the authorities. I thought perhaps you’d respond better to these new conditions. Say hello, Peter.”

Peter said nothing, staring at Bill in horror and refusing to look at the camera. This was all about weapons? Stark weapons? He couldn’t believe he was being used as bait.

“This won’t work,” he told Bill, his voice still shaking.

“Hear that?” Bill said, completely light and conversational. “Peter doesn’t think you care about him, but I’m thinking otherwise. No clue why you let a kid on your team, Stark. They’re so vulnerable when they’re young. Let me show you what I mean.” He gestured to the guy with the camera, who immediately panned in on Peter’s body. The small bulges beneath his skin, and the flecks of blood.

“Those are needles,” Bill explained. “I won’t tell you what we dipped them in, but Peter here did not care for it. In fact…” Without warning he pressed a hand down, hard, on Peter’s stomach. The pressure against the needles there made him scream and close his eyes. He didn’t want to be weak, not while he was being filmed for Mr. Stark, but the pain was too much. Far too much. “And we’re just getting started.” 

___

FRIDAY’s facial recognition came back minutes before the video arrived in his email. Tony shouted for the rest of the team, projecting the video onto the wall as soon as he realized what it was. Bill Murphy, a man with whom he’d refused to do business years ago, had taken Peter. FRIDAY’s software proved it, and now the video did as well. The team gasped together as the disturbing images lit up the living room.

Peter was strapped to a metal table, stripped to his boxers and trembling violently. He looked as shocked as the rest of them felt when Murphy described his plan. He was being stubborn, exactly like he always was, refusing to so much as acknowledge the camera.

“Who’s the kid?” Sam asked.

Tony was aware of the question. Aware of the gazes of the rest of his teammates staring at him, but he couldn’t answer them. His face was glued to the screen. Nat was the one to answer for him, realization dawning on her first.

“It’s Spider Man.”

“No way,” Sam said. “Tony?” When Tony still failed to answer, Sam brought a hand to his forehead in disbelief. “Shit, man, how old is he?”

“Fifteen,” Banner said, sounding pained. “I found out a few months ago.”

At that, the rest of the team erupted in a sea of shocked mutters, but Steve’s voice was the one to break through the chatter. “I knew he was young, Tony, but jeez. Fifteen?”

“What is that?” Nat’s gasp halted the interrogation, her eyes back on the video. The camera had panned to a close up of Peter’s body, and beneath his skin were dozens of tiny bulges. Most of his body was also flecked with droplets of blood. In a moment Bill answered the question for her.

“Needles.” Tony swung on Banner, breaking his stare from the video for the first time, and wincing as Peter began screaming. “Ever heard of something like this? What could they be dipped in?”

Bruce looked surprised by the question. “It could be anything, Tony.”

“But is he in serious danger?” A second scream rang from the recording. Murphy had begun pressing his hands against Peter’s chest and stomach.

“I can’t tell from this,” Bruce said, unable to look away from the screen. “It’s clearly not good.”

“Damnit!” Tony clenched his fists, turning his attention back to the video. Murphy had moved on to Peter’s arms and hands, squeezing them firmly over the buried needles. Peter’s shrieks became desperate, and he twisted against the restraints, arching his back the little he could. A thin sheen of sweat glistened across his entire body. Murphy continued for several minutes, pressing down on various areas of Peter’s skin, glancing between the boy and the camera all the while. It felt like forever before he paused, one hand planted solidly on Peter’s stomach. He stared into the lens, waiting for the boy to quiet down to gasping moans before speaking.

“You have five hours to have the weapons at the address I’ve included in the email. Any longer, and you get another video. Spider Kid has sixty needles under his skin. I’ll double it if I don’t get what I want. Now, say goodbye, Peter.”

For the first time, Peter looked at the camera, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse, but determined. “Don’t do it.”

Seeing his strength, Tony found a moment of hope, but it was immediately wiped away when a large fist came down on the boy’s stomach. His twisted scream was the last they heard before the screen went dark.

For several beats, no one spoke. They hardly even breathed, but then Steve broke the silence, his words calm and quick. “Give me the address where he wants the weapons delivered. I’ll take a team there and see what I can find.”

“He won’t be there,” Tony spoke through his teeth.

“Of course not,” Nat said. “But we at least have to check it out. Maybe we’ll find something there that can lead us to him.”

“Fine,” he immediately forwarded the address to the captain’s device.

“Who’s with me?” Steve asked. Nat and Clint immediately raised their hands, and the trio made for the door without another word. Stark turned to the remainder of the group.

“Banner, you and I are going to study those darts we found in the yard. See if we can figure out where the hell they came from. Thor and Sam, I need you to go back to the spot where that pretend army set up. See if you can find anything they might have left behind. Anything that might lead us to these assholes. Rhodey, if you have the stomach for it I want you to watch the video again. See if you can pick up any details we missed the first time. It looks like they’re in some sort of warehouse. See what you can figure out.”

There were no arguments as they instantly split up on their various tasks. He knew the questions would come. He knew he would be forced to defend himself against pulling a high school kid into an Avengers-sized mess. It didn’t matter that he had tried to keep Peter away from danger. It didn’t matter that he had invited him to stay at the compound, where he would be able to keep an eye on his extracurricular activities. It didn’t matter that he had kept his identity secret, even from the Avengers. Bruce had been the only exception. He’d wanted physicals run in case Peter got hurt while out on patrol and needed the doctor’s help. Despite all his efforts, Peter was now in trouble. His secret was out.

Tony was aware the team wouldn’t take the news lightly. Banner certainly hadn’t when he had first learned Peter’s age. They’d already had several heated discussions about Spider Man being near the compound at all. Tony knew that Peter would keep being Spider Man, with or without his help, and he’d wanted to protect him. He’d wanted to give the kid some sense of safety after his screw up at the airport. Inviting Peter to that battle was a different story, but it was one he couldn’t focus on now, because he hadn’t liked how Peter looked in that video. He was used to a cocky, annoying, go-getter of a kid. He’d never seen Peter complain. Never heard him scream. No matter what he’d have to deal with when it came to the team, his sole priority was making sure they rescued Peter before he could be hurt again. That was all that mattered now.

___

Peter didn’t know how long it had been since the video. Since they left him alone. Though he was glad his captors were gone, he still felt miserable. They had left the needles in, and looking down he realized his flesh had healed around them, trapping them even more securely beneath his skin. That wouldn’t have been such a big deal if they didn’t hurt so damn much. The longer they were in, the worse everything seemed to burn. He could have choked on it if he wasn’t so focused on keeping himself lucid. He had developed a mantra in his head. Calm. Focus. Steady. Breathe. He repeated it silently, staring up at the ceiling stain every time he thought he was about to lose it.

The team didn’t know where he was. If they did, they would have been there by now. Bill must have destroyed his suit, or at least the tracking system inside. He was on his own. He was going to have to find his own way out of this. Preferably before the five hour mark. His shivers hadn’t stopped since the needles were placed, but the thought of more of that pain increased their intensity. It hurt. Calm. Focus. Steady. Breathe.

He let out a slow breath on the last word. He needed to think. He gently tested his restraints for the millionth time. The glowing ropes had already tightened to the point of digging deep into his skin. He could see blood leaking down from his wrists, and both his hands had turned a dull shade of purple from lack of circulation. He couldn’t actually see his ankles and feet very well, but from the feel of things they weren’t much better. He realized he wasn’t going to get off that table on his own. He would have to wait for his captors to screw up.

He wanted to sleep, so that he’d have the strength to fight when it came to that, but the fiery itch beneath his skin was too distracting. It still hurt all the way into his bones. Instead he kept staring at the ceiling. Calm. Focus. Steady. Breathe. Calm. Focus. Steady. Breathe. Calm. Focus… He heard footsteps. They were back. All three of them.

“How are we, Peter?” He flicked his eyes around the room before finding him. Alex and Muscle Head were at the end of the table, but Bill had moved to his head. He swallowed and found his voice, his throat scratchy and sore from screaming.

“Really excellent, thanks.” He forced a smile that he knew was more of a wince.

“Does cockiness usually help you, or is it something you just picked up from Stark?”

“Oh, that’s all me.”

“Hmm,” Bill feigned thoughtfulness. “That might be something you wish to drop before you begin to annoy me.”

“Nah, I’m good.”

The man frowned and lifted a bottle of water from somewhere outside of Peter’s line of vision. He unscrewed the cap and began to drink it slowly, holding eye contact. He swallowed and spoke again. “I was going to offer this to you. I know you must be thirsty by now, and I’m afraid I have some disappointing news.” Peter watched the bottle and fought the urge to lick his dry lips. Between the sweating, screaming, and constant shivering, he was dying for a drink.

“Disappointing for you, or me?” He knew where Bill was going, of course, but the longer the man kept talking, the longer Peter had before they began hurting him again.

“Both,” Bill said. “But I’m afraid it may be worse for you.”

“I told you this wouldn’t work.”

“Don’t be hasty. We’ve only taken the first step. Your Avenger buddies showed up at the drop point, predictably, but unfortunately they came without the weapons. Apparently they have not yet been properly motivated.” He knew the words were supposed to upset him, but all Peter heard was that his team was looking for him. They were actively trying to get him out of this mess. It gave him hope.

“Maybe you’re just not very good at this.”

Bill sneered at him, suddenly grabbing a handful of hair and yanking his head back. He poured what was left of the water over his face, up his nose. Peter gasped and choked, the suffocating burn dissipating only after Bill released his hair. He turned his head to the side and gagged, coughing. He was still gasping for breath when Bill was speaking again.

“Turn him over. I think he’s ready to lie on his old needles while we insert some new ones.”

They were turning him? This was his chance! He waited, not really having to pretend to keep coughing, while the big man pressed a small device against his bounds that caused them to loosen immediately. Were they really that stupid? Or did they just think they had already beaten him? No matter the reason, Peter didn’t hesitate to slip from the restraints and jump up on the table.

He towered above them, ignoring the weakness in his legs and the agony that came with every movement. He could feel the needles pricking beneath his skin, but there was nothing he could do about that yet. He surveyed the room, spotting a large pair of metal doors on the far side of the warehouse. He flipped over the heads of Alex and the big guy, ignoring the tearing feeling inside as the needles pulled against his muscles. He ran for the door.

He was surprised when no one shouted behind him. When there were no pattering footsteps, but he didn’t look back. He reached the doors and extended his hand toward the handle. Before he touched it he heard Bill’s voice, calm and unhurried. “I wouldn’t, Peter.” He didn’t even hesitate before grabbing the handle, and was immediately hit with a powerful shock that radiated through his entire body and sent him hurtling ten feet backwards into a tall wooden crate. The crate shattered, and he laid there, stunned, surrounded by broken planks. The shock had been powerful. His ears were ringing and he couldn’t focus. Bill was blurry when he appeared in front of him.

“I warned you.” The man dropped a noose over his head, tightening the glowing, purple rope before he could regain his focus. It wasn’t too tight to breath, but it wasn’t comfortable either. Bill held the loose end. “Stand up.” Bill lightly tugged his end, and the noose tightened slightly around his throat. Still dazed, Peter stumbled to his feet, staring at the man as he came slowly back into focus. “Don’t get any funny ideas about overpowering me,” Bill said. “I’ll choke you out before you get within a foot.”

Peter shook his head. The fog was lifting. The buzzing was quieting. He followed Bill three steps back toward the table before acting. He grabbed the middle of the rope, intending to yank it from the man’s hand, but it didn’t budge. Bill turned to look at him again. “Not how this material works, Peter. I’m in control of it, not you.” He proved his point by tugging his end again, making Peter gag as it further constricted his windpipe. He started having to work to draw air. “Want to keep testing it?”

“Yeah!” The word was a gasp, but that didn’t stop him lunging toward the man. He wanted to punch him, but with the needles in his hands, a fist was an impossibility. That was okay. He would work with what he had. His foot collided with Bill’s stomach, hard, sending the man flying several feet back across the room. He let out a cry of pain that would have been satisfying had he let go of the rope. As it was, Peter was dragged after him like a weightless ragdoll. As he flopped to the ground beside Bill, the loop around his throat dug into his neck, cutting off his airway completely. He pulled at the rope, the pain in his hands forgotten in his desperation for oxygen. Black spots were beginning to appear in his vision as Bill made it slowly to his feet, slightly hunched and clutching his stomach, the side of his face red from where he had hit the floor.

“Stupid boy!” he spat before everything went dark.


	3. Chapter 3

Tony’s blood went cold when he got the binging announcement that another video had been added to his inbox. He had been expecting it. It was an hour past the drop time Murphy had set. A little after eleven at night. That didn’t make it any easier to open.

He walked briskly to the lab where Banner, Rhodey, Steve, Clint, and Nat were all still searching for nearby warehouses and hits on the darts and van. So far they had turned up very little. Sam and Thor were still in the field. They hadn’t found anything at the scene of their distraction, but were flying to every warehouse the team gave them. Tony had been in his office, doing his own research, when the email came in.

“It’s here.” He entered the lab, and they all froze in their research.

“Pull it up,” Steve said. Tony nodded. He hadn’t been able to open it without being told.

The moment the image was projected onto the wall, they were met by the terrible sound of Peter’s shrieks. The camera was focused on where he laid on his stomach, wrists pinned at either side of his turned head, feet restrained at the foot of the table to keep him fairly still. A weasley-looking guy hovered over him, black leather gloves on his hands. He inserted a needle into the kid’s bicep, and if he wasn’t losing it before he certainly did then. Peter screamed, bucking helplessly against his restraints and shivering so hard the table was vibrating. His voice was extremely rough, his screams gravely, and Tony realized why when he noticed the deep, angry welt around the back of his neck. Peter had been strangled.

“Shh.” A detached hand entered the shot, stroking Peter’s hair as if to soothe him. A moment later, the camera panned up to land on Murphy. The left side of the man’s face was bruised and purple, but he was still smiling down at the screaming teen. “Shh,” he shushed again, holding up one hand to halt the man as he raised yet another needle. Nearly a full minute passed before Peter’s screams lessened to injured whimpers. “There we go. Just like that. Do you have anything you’d like to say to Mr. Stark?”

Peter shook his head, moaning, his eyes squeezed tightly shut. “Please,” the word seemed to escape him.

Murphy’s smile widened. “Please, what?” He continued stroking his hair, but Peter only clamped his lips together. “If you don’t have anything you’d like to say, I suppose I could do the talking. I think you’re going to need your focus on other things anyway.” He gestured again toward the man, who immediately began working another needle into a spot near Peter’s spine.

“Shit.” Clint’s muttered profanity matched what Tony was feeling when the kid’s frantic screams returned. Murphy had to raise his voice to be heard over them.

“Peter’s not feeling very talkative at the moment, Tony. I suppose he’s probably feeling a bit disappointed with you by this point. The Avengers showed up at my drop point, but with no weapons. I’m not understanding.” He paused, and the camera panned in closer as another needle was slipped beneath the skin of Peter’s back. With the close-up, they were able to see dozens of bulges all across the back of his body. In a moment, the shot returned to Murphy. He left his hand on Peter’s hair, resting there almost possessively as he continued speaking.

“I know I said we’d double the needles if you didn’t make the drop on time, but that wasn’t accounting for Peter here pissing me off. I decided to take the number up from sixty to a hundred. He’s got a stubborn streak that reminds me of someone.”

“At least now we know what happened to the asshole’s face,” Rhodey said. “That’s a win for Peter.”

“This isn’t,” Tony said quietly. As much as he wanted to, he was unable to pull his eyes from the screen. The guy with the needles hadn’t hesitated again in his task. Murphy glanced in his direction.

“We’re up to eighty-nine now, not counting the sixty in the front of his body, of course. I think I’ll let you watch the last eleven. He was still running his mouth at first, but that’s all done now, isn’t it, Pete?” Murphy stepped back, seeming to gesture at the person holding the camera. They zoomed in again on Peter and the needles.

Peter was clearly out of his head. There was no break in his screams. Not until needle number ninety-four. It was then he started cracking, the stream of words pouring painfully from his throat. “No more. No more. No more.”

“What’s this?” Murphy was back in the shot, leaning down near Peter’s face.

“No more,” he gasped, crying out again as needle number ninety-five went in. He gasped for breath and continued without opening his eyes. “Please, no more. Please, please, just take them out. Take them oooout!” The last word turned to a scream as yet another needle was inserted.

Murphy suddenly looked up from Peter, into the camera. His eyes were shining and the sick freak was actually grinning. He laughed as he spoke. “I think I just broke Spider Man.”

Peter continued to blubber, most of his words garbled and incoherent between screams as the last four needles were pressed into his body. He was completely covered in a thin coating of blood and sweat by the end of it, but the Avengers knew the small wounds would already be healing. Healing around the needles inside him. Even when it was over, he continued to quietly beg around his whimpers. “Take them out. Please. Please, take them out. Please.”

“Only you can take them out, Tony,” Murphy said. “But I think Peter needs some time now, so you’ve got till eleven tomorrow morning. If the weapons aren’t delivered by then, I step it up a notch. What do you think of that, Peter?”

“Out. Please take them out.”

Murphy stared at the camera. “Up to you, Stark.” The video ended.

“Okay.” Like last time, Steve was the first to break the silence, but when Tony looked at him he realized the captain’s hands were shaking at his sides. He slid his own hands into his pockets, feeling them doing the same. In fact, it felt like his heart was trying to hammer its way out of his chest. “This just gives us more time to find him. Peter’s hanging on for now.”

Tony balked at the captain’s words. “You call that holding on?”

“He’s right, Tony,” Nat was beside him, one hand falling onto his shoulder. “That was hard to see, but it was only that bad because the kid’s still fighting. You saw what he did to Murphy.”

“I hope it hurt like hell,” Clint growled. “I hope the bastard has brain damage.”

“If he took a hit from Spider Man, he might,” Nat said.

“We’ve got to get him out of there.” Tony paced across the room, falling onto a couch but continuing to jitter and pat his legs. “I don’t think he can take much more of that. Banner?” he said the man’s name suddenly.

“Yeah?”

“Did your doctor brain take anything from that the rest of us might’ve missed?”

“Like what?”

Tony let out a puff of annoyance. “Like is Peter actually holding on? Does he look like he’s been poisoned by whatever is on those needles? That kind of doctory thing?”

Bruce sighed. “Tony, I know you want answers, but it’s a video. I don’t know any more than you. There’s something very painful on those needles. Maybe it’s poison, maybe it’s not. He’s clearly been strangled, but he’s still talking so there’s probably no permanent damage. The shaking could be pain, a reaction to the substance in his body, dehydration, or some combination of all of them. Without him here to examine, I just can’t say.”

“Damnit. Okay.” He hopped to his feet, suddenly. The team was giving him concerned looks, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t seem to stay still. “This is officially the mission of find-Peter-Parker-before-eleven-or-someone-loses-a-head. We all on the same page with that?”

“Absolutely,” Nat and Steve spoke together, while the rest of the team mumbled similar agreements.

“Good. Then I want all of you out there with Thor and Sam checking warehouses. All of them within a hundred miles if that’s what it takes. I don’t care how big, small, or illegal they are. Check ‘em. Find Peter.”

“And what are you going to do?” Steve ventured.

“I’m going to set up some weapons for the drop point. Oh, don’t look at me like that. They won’t be real. I don’t even have the damn things anymore. If that’s what it comes to, we’ll toss them some fakes and then follow whoever picks them up. It’s risky, so it’s a last resort. Now go.”

They did not need to be told again. As his team piled from the lab, Tony got on the phone to arrange the fake weapons. He hoped he wouldn’t have to use them. If they got caught trying to trick Murphy, he didn’t want to think about what could happen to Peter. No matter what encouragements Nat and Steve blew up his ass, he knew the kid was in bad shape. He wasn’t about to let it get any worse. 

___

The warehouse was pitch black. They had turned the lights out and left him. They’d gone home for the night. Maybe even to families that had no idea what they had been up to all day. Maybe even to kids his own age. The thoughts were disgusting, but he couldn’t focus on them. He couldn’t focus on anything. Anything other than the hurt, that was. And jeez, did he hurt.

He had apparently made a bad call in goading Bill, because even after the video was done, the man continued to taunt him for an hour. Peter regretted the begging. He’d been half out of his mind with the pain, and the words had just slipped out. Bill had liked them a little too much. He had spent the extra hour pressing on Peter’s back, legs, and shoulders until he was blubbering the pleas all over again. Only then had he called it a night, encouraging Peter to get some sleep that he knew would be impossible. He said they would see him in the morning.

They had left him on his stomach, stuck full of a hundred and sixty needles. Lying on his front was hell, but he knew, at this point, that even if he could turn over it would be equally bad. Maybe worse. The needles had stopped being individually painful a long time ago. There were just too many of them. It was one big hurt. One terrible, burning, itch that sank deep into his muscles and every single one of his bones. He still needed them out, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t even move, unless you counted the shivers, and those he would have given anything to stop. He was so exhausted. So exhausted.

It didn’t matter how tired he was. There was no rest. He was pretty sure that whatever hideous liquid coated the needles wasn’t just painful. It was a stimulant. There was no other explanation for why he was still awake. Maybe the pain was too bad for sleep, but he knew he would have passed out at least a few times by now if there wasn’t something in his bloodstream keeping him up. The worst pain he’d been in before today had been the time he’d taken a bullet to the calf, and he’d passed out that time long before blood loss should have made that happen. It had been the pain. His body would have protected him from some of this had it been able to.

Even though sleep wouldn’t come, he still closed his eyes and tried hard to even his breathing. His throat was so raw that every time he swallowed it felt like he was choking down sandpaper. He wanted some water. He needed some water. But he’d been given none. Not after the strangling, and not after the torture. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to beg for a drink, even though he’d wanted to. He’d broken down in front of Bill, oh gosh, in front of the team, enough for one day. He hated that they’d seen him that way. Maybe even more than he hated his current situation. Well maybe not that much.

He needed them to find him. Before eleven. He didn’t expect Mr. Stark to hand over any weapons. He didn’t even know if there were any weapons to hand over. He just needed this to be done. He needed the needles gone. He needed to sleep. Oh gosh, he’d kill just to sleep for an hour. He had all night, but it would make no difference. There was no escape. No rest. Only the table. Only Bill. Only Alex. Only the idiot muscle head who never talked and whose name he had never even learned. He was panicking. He was having trouble breathing. The bounds were too tight. The pain was too sharp. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do it anymore. He finally broke down in tears. There was no one to see. No one to hear. He couldn’t be strong when he was so alone.

___

The night had been shit. So had the morning. 10:15am and they had found nothing. He doubted there was a warehouse left in the city they hadn’t ransacked. It didn’t make sense. Murphy wouldn’t have had time to move Peter very far before sending the first video, and he was certain both videos had been filmed in the same location. He had gotten desperate at around 5am and taken to watching both repeatedly, thirsty for any clue, but he had accomplished nothing besides further upsetting himself. Steve had found him after two hours and made him quit. It had probably been for the best. He knew he would remember the sound of Peter’s screams, his quiet begging, until the day he died.

“Tony?” Rhodey’s voice rang through his earpiece.

“Yes, did you find something?”

“No, sorry, but we’re running low on time.”

Did the man really think he didn’t know that? Watching the clock had become his new religion. He fought to keep his voice civil when he answered. “And?”

“Is your plan in place? For if we don’t find him?”

It was. He had a truckful of crates parked a quarter mile from the drop point. The fake weapons inside were all lined with discreet gps tracking devices. He intended to be hiding in the shadows when they were dropped, full Ironman and ready to follow anyone who showed up. He knew Murphy had cameras there, so he would have to be careful. If he got caught, Peter would pay the price.

“Everything’s ready,” he finally told Rodney. “I had just hoped it wouldn’t come to that.” It was risky. Too risky, in his opinion, but they were just about out of options.

“We all did,” Rhodey said. “But in a few hours this will all be over.”

“Time’s not up yet,” Tony reminded him.

“Of course.” Rhodey signed off. There was still a chance they could find him before the “weapons” needed to be dropped, but that chance was rapidly fading away.

He pushed it to 10:49, giving his team every second he could, before suiting up and reluctantly giving the order for the crates to be dropped off at the location. The drop point was a small car repair shop. He flew there before the last of the boxes had been unloaded, and hid on top of a building on the opposite side of the street, waiting to see who would come for the packages. He got anxious when no one showed up.

Eleven o’ clock came and went. Then noon. Then one. He didn’t move from his location, but a sick feeling had settled deep in his gut. Finally, at 1:30, a small bing told him he had received an email. He half feared it would be another video, but it was a message.

Murphy: Seen camera footage. Sending someone to inspect packages. If my guy gets hurt, yours gets it ten times worse.

Stark quickly dictated a response and sent it back to the unknown address.

Stark: Send your guy. Weapons are all there. Where is Peter?

He waited, continuing to watch the garage for motion, until Murphy responded.

Murphy: Peter stays with me until weapons are in my hands.

Tony cussed, even though he had expected that response.

Stark: Then get them quickly.

The emails stopped, and his heart sped up ten minutes later when a white van pulled into the auto shop’s lot. He quickly ran the plates, and they matched the van that had taken Peter. This was it. He contacted the team.

“The pickup is here. If the guns fool this guy, I intend to follow him back to Peter.”

“Should we come with you?” Steve asked immediately.

“Stand by. There’s too much surveillance and too many unknowns. I’ll call you when I have Peter’s location.”

A bald, muscled man climbed from the van and walked into the garage, his head swiveling in every direction. Stark ducked down low, praying that this would work. It had to work. Fifteen of the longest minutes of his life passed before the man reappeared, lugging one of the crates in his arms. He loaded all of them into the van before climbing into the driver’s seat. Tony grinned. They had fallen for it.

When the van pulled back onto the road, he flew high enough into the sky that he wouldn’t be seen above the clouds. His tracking systems still allowed him to follow the van with ease. It traveled for thirty minutes before pulling into the lot of an old apartment complex.

“I’m here,” he told the team. “Come meet me.” He quickly sent them his coordinates before flying back down to earth. He landed on the roof of the complex, watching the van from where it had parked in the lot. It was taking the driver a long time to exit. He was so focused that he jumped when he received an email. He opened it quickly.

Murphy: Van auto drives. My guy snuck out through the bottom after climbing into driver’s seat. Van programmed to drive to fake location in case of a trick. My surveillance has you on the roof. Shouldn’t have fucked with me, Stark. Now I’m going to have to fuck with Peter.

Attached to the email was a picture of him. Tony Stark. Ironman. Crouched on the roof. Watching the van. What had he done?


	4. Chapter 4

Peter had been lying on the table for what felt like forever. Bill and Alex had showed up that morning, flicking on the lights and making him blink. They had hardly greeted him before pulling out their laptops and staring at the screens, the backs of the monitors to Peter so he had no clue what they were doing. They drank coffee and ate breakfast burritos that smelled amazing. Peter wasn’t hungry. He felt sick. But he knew his rapid metabolism was going to make him really weak if he didn’t eat soon. That’s probably what had him sniffing at the egg and bacon wraps. He might have drooled if his mouth wasn’t so sand dry.

A long time passed before Bill approached the head of the table. He looked happy, and he was holding a water bottle. “It seems like your old pal Tony is finally doing the right thing. That entitles you to a drink. Just pray, for your sake, this isn’t a setup.” He inserted a straw into the bottle and brought it to Peter’s lips, so he could drink without moving. He sucked at the water immediately, pausing to cough halfway through when he choked in his haste. He feared Bill would take the water away, but he waited patiently until Peter was ready to keep drinking. He let him finish the entire bottle. He wanted more, but it wasn’t offered. Still, his throat felt better than it had in a long while.

“Thank you,” he gasped. He couldn’t believe he was thanking the man who had tortured him in an attempt to extort Tony Stark, but for the moment he liked being on Bill’s good side. He doubted that would last. There was no way Mr. Stark was actually giving away illegal weapons. Peter figured that meant the team was coming for him. He tried not to look too obviously hopeful.

“If this works, I’ll be the one thanking you.” Bill patted his head and returned to his computer.

A couple more hours passed before Bill stood up and began pacing. He placed his hands on his lower back and leaned backward, stretching, watching Peter all the while. When he was done, he walked to stand beside him. “It’s just a waiting game for a while now,” he said. “The crates have been dropped, but I’m not sending anyone in until I know it’s safe. We have a few hours.”

“Okay,” the word came out a croak. He hadn’t been speaking much, and his throat still hurt from the strangling and screams. He didn’t know why Bill was bothering to fill him in.

“I think you’ve been tied in that position long enough. Let’s get you up.” He produced the same strange device the bald man had used to loosen his restraints the previous day. He brought it briefly to his wrists and ankles, and Peter felt the immediate tingling of blood returning to his hands and feet as the ropes fell away. He slowly rotated his wrists and ankles, but didn’t make an attempt to move beyond that. He wasn’t even sure he could move. He flinched when he felt Bill’s hand lock around his arm, but for once it didn’t seem like the man was trying to hurt him.

“What are you doing?”

“Helping you up.” Bill said, pulling on his arm a little. “And something tells me I won’t be having the same problem as yesterday.”

Peter shook his head. No. It wasn’t even a possibility. Just making it to a seated position, his legs spread out on the table in front of him, was complete agony. He bowed his head, clenching his teeth so tightly it was making his jaw hurt. He didn’t want his captors to hear him whimper, no matter how badly the sound wanted to escape his lips.

“Nice and easy,” Bill encouraged. Another water bottle appeared in front of his face, complete with a straw. Peter had two needles in each of his palms, and another in each of his ten fingers, so gripping anything was out of the question. However, Bill was again patient as he finished the water. It made him feel a little better. His body was still in hell, but at least his throat and mouth weren’t hurting so much. He would take whatever win he could get.

As the day carried on, Bill continued to be nice to him. It was strange. The man allowed him to keep sitting, free of restraints, on the condition he didn’t try and get up. That was fine, as Peter wasn’t even sure he was capable of getting up. He was even offered a bedpan, which he desperately needed. Peeing into it with no good hands proved an ordeal, but he eventually managed and Bill took the pan away. Peter didn’t know what Mr. Stark was planning, and that was putting him on edge. He didn’t trust Bill’s good mood to last, and he needed to be free of this place before it ended.

Several hours passed while Peter was sitting up. He was glad the restraints were gone, but the position hurt. He wanted to lie down, but he wasn’t sure that wouldn’t be worse. He still needed sleep, and the shivers hadn’t gone anywhere. He had started daydreaming about a soft bed in the compound when Bill’s sudden exclamation made him jump.

“What the shit? No!” He watched the man, his face suddenly hard with rage, begin typing furiously at his keyboard. He pressed a key and stood, swinging on Peter and knocking his chair over in the process. “Stark just screwed you, kid. Big time.” Alex stood beside Bill, sliding another purple rope into his hand as they approached the table together.

Peter wanted to fight back. His head screamed at him to fight back. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t even take a sip of water on his own. He could barely even piss on his own. What chance did he have of fighting his way out? Absolutely none. The last time he had tried had cost him. He couldn’t afford to make things worse on himself. Not again. So he stayed still. Letting them reach him. Closing his eyes. Praying the Avengers would find him soon.

___

Tony was sick with himself. Sick to the point of ignoring the inquiries of everyone at the compound. They had, of course, searched the van and the complex, but there was nothing. They had fallen into a trap, and Peter was going to pay. Had probably already paid. Half the team was still desperately searching for warehouses they had missed, and Nat and Clint had begun checking out apartment complexes on the off chance there was something to that. Tony was glad they were keeping busy, but for the moment he was out of ideas. He was out of hope. He felt like crying when the video showed up in his inbox, and stifled a gasp when he saw how long the thing was. An hour and two minutes.

“Guys!” he shouted, his phone shaking in his hands as he ran to the living room where Steve, Sam, Banner, and Thor were resting. They had taken to searching in shifts so they could get a few hours sleep each. Tony was the only one who hadn’t bothered to at least try resting.

“Crap,” Steve said, meeting Tony’s gaze and knowing what was wrong.

“It’s long,” he said. “It’s really long.”

“Tony,” Bruce started. “Maybe you shouldn’t…”

“Don’t even say it.”

At that he projected the video onto the wall. The shot was quiet at first. It was Peter, hanging by his tied together wrists from a long rope that traveled all the way to the top of the high ceiling. It was a new angle, and Tony wanted to take in every detail of the location, but he couldn’t stop staring at Peter. The kid’s toes barely touched the ground, and he swayed a little, the purple rope glistening slightly around his wrists. His head was bowed, his chin touching his chest, and his eyes were closed.

He was pulled taut, so much that they could make out the outline of each individual needle that was still under his skin. If he hadn’t been shivering as violently as ever, they might have thought he was dead. Tony couldn’t imagine how sore and tired his muscles must have been from that, but he feared the tremors were the least of Peter’s problems at the moment. About a minute passed before three men appeared at his sides. It was Murphy, the weasley guy with the needles, and the bald man from the auto shop. Peter still didn’t stir.

“We had to break out the old tripod,” Murphy spoke to the camera. “Carl usually does the camera work,” he gestured to the bald man. “But it seems that none of us wanted to miss this.”

“Move, Peter,” Steve muttered under his breath. It seemed like Tony wasn’t the only one bothered by his lack of response.

“Peeeter,” Murphy drew out his name, beginning to tap him lightly on the cheek with one finger. The kid still didn’t move, and in a moment Murphy turned to smile at the camera. His eyes, though, looked furious. “In case you’re starting to wonder, Peter’s fully conscious. Being strung up like this seemed to really hurt him, and he kind of shut down just before we got the camera rolling. Don’t worry. We’ll see him out of it.”

Murphy nodded toward Carl, who walked out of the shot before returning seconds later with a nail gun. A collective gasp came from the gathered Avengers as the man approached Peter with the nasty tool. Murphy addressed the camera again.

“Alex, my personal science genius, has doused each of the nails we’re about to use in the same cocktail Peter liked so much on the needles.” He turned back to Peter and spoke near his ear. “Are you ready, little spider?”

Carl didn’t wait any longer before pressing the nail gun against Peter’s hip bone, easily aligning the nail between the visible needles still under his skin. Tony cringed when Carl pulled the trigger, and didn’t know if he actually heard Peter’s bones crunching, or if he had imagined it. However, there was no imagining Peter’s reaction. He came alert immediately, throwing his head back as his eyes flew wide. He screamed, how could not not, and pulled desperately against the ropes about his wrists even though that had to hurt like crazy. His hands were already white from lack of circulation.

“Calm down,” Murphy finally said, catching Peter’s face between his hands when he continued to scream after a full minute. “Calm down and breathe.” He managed to obey, choking back another scream and instead sucking in air. Even an inch from Murphy’s face, Peter’s eyes were wild and unfocused. Tony could see that even through the screen.

“There now,” Murphy spoke to the boy when he was calmer. “I know you weren’t expecting that. I know it hurt. But this is going to be your new reality for a little while. I need you to figure out how to endure this so you can put on a nice show for Mr. Stark and your Avenger buddies back home. They earned this for you, so you have to deliver. Understand?”

Peter didn’t respond, and Murphy didn’t let go of his face when Carl moved the nail gun to the other side of his pelvis. “Take a breath,” he said. “Here it comes.” He let go of Peter’s face and stepped back, and the moment he was clear Carl pulled the trigger again. Tony was certain he heard the crunching this time, and he truly wished he hadn’t. He felt someone near him back up and collapse onto the couch, but he didn’t care who. He couldn’t stop looking at Peter. The kid was shrieking again, but he got it under control in less than a minute this time.

“Good!” Murphy praised. He looked at the camera. “He learns quick, doesn’t he, Tony? Too bad we can’t say the same for you.”

The torture continued then with very little interruption. Almost two dozen nails went into Peter’s bones. Two more in each hip, three in each knee, one in each elbow, a few in his shins, one in each scapula, and then some shorter ones scattered across his ribs. Peter screamed, vomited clear bile until he was dry heaving, and even started sobbing, but he refused to beg again. Even when Murphy asked him to. Even when he promised to end it if he did, Peter wouldn’t beg.

“Just beg, kid,” Sam finally said out loud. “No one would blame you.”

“I don’t know why he hasn’t passed out,” Bruce said. He was looking green, and it had nothing to do with Hulk. “They must have him on a stimulant. There’s no way he wouldn’t pass out from this otherwise.”

“He is Spider Man,” Thor said.

Banner shook his head. “Even Spider Man has limits.”

They fell silent when Murphy turned to face the camera again, Peter swaying behind him, eyes closed and moaning. He was pale, still shivering, and now covered in thick streaks of blood. Carl’s hands were wet with it, as were all three of the men’s shoes. Murphy even had blood on his face.

“Tomorrow, Stark. Nine AM. No tricks, or I swear I’ll start removing bones. Maybe make him a spidey exoskeleton out of his own parts. Do you think I’m playing yet?” He approached the camera as he talked, finally stepping behind it and zooming in on Peter’s ruined body. He lingered on the boy’s face before shutting it off and ending the video.

And that’s when Tony hit the floor.

“It would be better if they killed him,” he said, sitting on his knees that had given way. He was focusing on nothing as his friends gathered around him. “I’d give him the fucking weapons at this point if I had them. This has to stop.”

“We’ll find him,” Steve said, clapping his friend on the shoulder, but Tony didn’t believe it anymore. Peter was going to suffer there until his body gave up on him. As Banner had said, even Spider Man had limits.

“You need to sleep,” Bruce said, approaching him. “It’s been almost two days.”

“Peter’s not resting,” he argued.

“I can’t help Peter. I can help you.” Before he could argue, Banner had stuck him in the arm with a syringe and depressed the plunger. He immediately felt woozy, and his friends held him down as he struggled to climb to his feet. “It’s a light sedative.” Banner explained. “Just to help you sleep for a few hours.”

“Fuck you,” he said, his words slurring and his vision tilting. The drug was kicking in.

“We won’t stop looking,” Steve promised, and Tony drifted off to the nodding agreement of his teammates. 

___

They released his arms. They laid him on his back on the metal table. If he had thought the needles hurt his bones, it was nothing compared to having the liquid inside them. Everything hurt. Everything was fire. The torture liquid was worse than the broken, in some places shattered, bones. He had lost a lot of blood too. Even though it was slowing now, his rapid healing causing his muscles to seal around the nails, he knew he had still bled out more than he was supposed to. He would have laughed at the situation if it wasn’t so awful. He had nails. In. His. Bones.

Someone was talking to him. He wasn’t sure which one. It was probably Bill, Alex and Carl never seemed to have much to say, but he couldn’t open his eyes. He couldn’t sleep either. His ears were ringing. He felt water on his lips but wouldn’t swallow. Someone was slapping his face. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. Not the voices. Not the blood. Not the water. Nothing. There was pain. Only pain. Nothing else. There was never going to be anything else.


	5. Chapter 5

“But we were there last night.” 

“Well maybe we missed something.”

“It’s a warehouse. What is there to miss?” 

“We have to go back!” 

“Then stop arguing and let’s go!” 

“Go where?” Tony sat up, realizing they had moved him onto the couch in his living room. Nat, Clint, and Thor were standing in a nearby circle, arguing. He glanced at his watch and frowned. It was 2:47 in the morning. They had about six hours to find Peter. 

“Tony,” Thor said. “You’re up.”

“Go where?” he repeated, adjusting his glasses from where they had fallen askew on his face.

The three exchanged looks before Clint finally told him. “Nat thinks she found something.” 

“On Peter?” He jumped to his feet. 

“Maybe,” she said. “But it’s a lead at a tool warehouse we already checked.” 

“What’s the lead?” 

They all looked uncomfortable again before Nat answered. “I was watching the latest video they sent us, and it’s small, but the nail gun had a company logo printed on the handle. I looked it up, and there’s a distributing warehouse for the company about forty minutes away. The thing is, Clint and I checked it last night, and…” 

“We’re going,” Tony said before she could finish.

“But I don’t want to get your…” 

“It’s a lead, so we’re going. Easy as that. FRIDAY, suit.” After the command, he was Ironman within ten seconds. He strode quickly through the door, forcing them to follow. They rode the elevator to the roof. “Nat, coordinates.” 

“Already sent them to you.”

The elevator opened at the roof and he hurried to the ledge, pulling up the coordinates as he walked. He grabbed Clint’s arm without a word, and Thor took Nat. They jumped from the ledge, and all four of them were landing in front of the warehouse of Klindman Tools in fifteen minutes. 

“Fast travel,” Nat said when Thor let her go, moving several clumps of tangled hair out of her face. 

Tony was already at the door of the warehouse, smashing the lock with his hand and pulling it wide open. “You said you checked here last night?”

“Yeah, and…” 

He cut Clint off, talking to his suit. “Do a thermal scan of the building.”

“Scan complete, one body detected,” came the cool voice of his AI.

He swung immediately on Nat and Clint. “Did you check downstairs?”

“There is no downstairs,” Clint said.

“Then why is someone down there?” He was almost shouting. His hands were shaking.

“Tony, we looked,” Nat was calm. “There’s no staircase.” 

“Then there must be a hidden way down, but I’m not looking for that.” He fired up his reactor and blasted a hole through the floor, far from where the figure had appeared on his scan. Sure enough, there was a wide, dark room below them. He jumped down without hesitation, his teammates close behind. Clint slammed a hand against a lightswitch on one wall, and a number of old fluorescents flickered to life. And there, across the room, lying on the same table from the videos, was Peter. 

They were around him in an instant, Tony stepping out of his Ironman suit. Peter was on his back, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling. The same shimmering rope they had seen in the videos was secured around his wrists and ankles, but it didn’t look very tight. He was shivering as hard as ever.

They knew what he had gone through, watched a lot of it, but seeing how beaten he was in person was a lot to swallow. His skin was white, and because of his rocket metabolism he had already lost significant weight. He was entirely coated in streaks of sweat and dried blood. There were a number of nail heads visible against his skin, and the needles were everywhere, fully embedded but clearly outlined under his flesh.

“Oh, Oden,” Thor swore. 

Tony ignored him, ignored all of the injuries, and went to Peter’s head. He placed a hand gently on top of his hair, as he was frankly scared to touch him anywhere else. The kid was such a wreck. “Peter, you in there buddy?”

His eyes were incredibly glassy, but at the sound of his voice they focused slowly and moved to his face. Tony saw the recognition there before Peter found his voice. “Mr...Mr...Stark?” He sounded like he couldn’t believe it. 

“Yeah, Pete. We found ya. You’re safe now.” He was vaguely aware of Nat’s voice in his head, in all of their heads, alerting the team over the coms to the good news and telling them to get back to headquarters asap. Especially Bruce.

“Now let’s get you out of here,” Clint said, reaching toward the rope around his wrist.

“Wait,” Peter tried to warn him, but he’d pulled on it before he could get it out. The rope tightened instantly, beginning to dig into Peter’s skin.

“What the…?” Clint backed up a step in confusion.

“It’s not normal,” Peter said. His voice was so weak and raspy that Tony almost wanted to tell him not to talk, but this was something they had to know. “I don’t know what it is, but you can’t break it, and it only gets tighter if you try.” The torn skin around Peter’s wrists and ankles, despite the seemingly loose binds, suddenly made sense.

“Okay, no pulling on the magic rope. Got that everyone? So how do we get it off, Pete?” He struggled to keep his voice light for Peter’s sake. He didn’t like how faded and spaced out he seemed. Not that he liked much about their situation in general. 

Peter took several deliberate breaths, staring briefly at the ceiling. They all waited patiently until he was able to look at them again. “There’s a thing,” he finally said. “It’s like a little, metal...I don’t know. Muscle Head, I mean Carl, usually has it.” 

Tony forced a chuckle that sounded fake even to him. “I think I like Muscle Head better. So what’s this little metal doohickey look like? Do you think it’s here?”

“Maybe? I don’t usually see much. I think there’s a cart.” He glanced to his right, where a metal cart was pushed back several feet from the table. It was covered in an assortment of items, including a jar of needles floating in purple liquid and a bloody nail gun. Tony was suddenly fighting the urge to upend the whole thing. 

“This it?” Nat was suddenly beside Tony, one steady hand on his shoulder. With the other she had snatched up a small, cylindrical object. It was metal. She held it into Peter’s line of vision.”

“Yeah,” he said. “I think so. Just hold it up to the rope and see if it…” She had the item hovering above his wrist before he could finish his sentence. It instantly loosened and fell away from his skin. She repeated the process with his other wrist, and both ankles, before tying the rope around her belt and storing the “doohickey” in her pocket.

“Okay,” Tony said, dragging his gaze away from the cart of torture. “Time to go. Thor, take Peter back to the compound.” 

The demigod suddenly looked confused. “Why not you? Mjolnir is not the most gentle means of…” 

“I have a date with Bill Murphy,” he cut him off. “And maybe a couple others.”

“Tony,” Nat was back at his side, muttering into his ear. “You need to think of Peter.” 

“I am thinking of Peter,” he hissed angrily. Clint and Thor suddenly joined them. He was worried that the exclusion would upset Peter, but a glance at the kid proved he was focused again on the ceiling, that scary, glazed look back in his eyes. It made him want to hit something. Or someone. Like Bill Murphy.

“I’ll stay behind and deal with those creeps. You need to be the one to take Peter home. Take it from someone who just travelled with Thor. That is not a comfortable flight.”

“Listen to Nat,” Thor said. “I will stay behind as well.” 

“As will I,” Clint said.

“But…” he wanted to argue, but another glance and Peter told him there was nothing to say. As much as he hated it, as much as he wanted to personally murder Murphy, they were right. “Okay,” he gave in. “But don’t make it too quick. They deserve to suffer.”

“I was thinking of using that nail gun,” Nat whispered at a volume that Peter would be sure not to hear. Not that he seemed to be listening to much of anything. 

“Inspired,” Thor said.

“Get out of here,” Clint said. “I’ll bring you an eyeball on an arrow if you’d like. A souvenir.” 

“Temping,” Tony said. “But too messy.” 

“We’ll see you back home in a while,” Nat said. He merely nodded, returning to Peter’s side while the others began discussing strategy.

“Peter?” The kid had zoned out again. What was it with that ceiling? He brought his gaze back to Tony at the sound of his name. “You ready to go home?”

Peter closed his eyes and sighed. “Yes. I was thinking I never would.” So was I, Tony thought. But he wasn’t about to say that out loud. He backed quickly into his suit before returning to Peter’s side, now Ironman. 

“Pete, I’m in the suit now. What’s going to be the most painless way for me to lift you?”

The kid opened his eyes again and frowned. “There’s no possible way,” he said. “Just do it. I’m sorry if I scream.” That was disturbing, but he believed Peter. It was going to hurt no matter what. He was way too beat up for it not to. 

He ended up pulling him against his chest, holding him vertically as if he were standing, but not actually letting his feet touch the ground. Given the state of his knees, he didn’t think they should be bending. Peter didn’t scream at the motion, but he did groan a lot and press his forehead hard against the cold metal of Ironman’s shoulder. He was about to lift off when Nat stopped him.

“Take this.” She extended the jar of purple liquid and needles, and he was suddenly glad Peter’s face was pressed against him. 

“What the hell, Nat?” 

She glared at him. “It’s for Bruce. He might need to test it.”

“Oh,” he suddenly felt dumb. “Obviously. Sorry.” 

“Go.” He didn’t need to be told again, and was about to take off when Peter interrupted him.

"Wait. The doors...you can't. They... trap...shock."

Tony understood. "You hear that guys? No touching those doors." He gestured to the double set across the room.

"We've got it," Clint said. "Get out of here." 

Tony nodded and left the ground gently, holding Peter with one hand and the jar with the other. He lifted off through the same hole from which they had entered, and then flew as steadily and quickly as he could. Not so high that it would be cold, and not so fast that it would be too rough. He found the sweet medium and had Peter back at the compound in thirty minutes. He could hardly believe they were there as he made his way quickly to the medbay.

He passed through his teammates, who had beaten him back to the compound, and met Bruce beside a gurney that was bolted to the floor. He was in his lab coat, gloves on his hands, and surrounded by every imaginable piece of medical equipment and machinery. Peter cried out, eyes wild, as he laid him on the gurney, but then Tony was being gently removed from the room by someone. He supposed it was one of his companions, but he didn’t even look. He didn’t fight. He just let them lead him into his living room, where he left his suit before collapsing onto the couch. He leaned forward, buried his head in his hands, and tried not to be sick. Peter was home, but he had a long way to go before he reached the point of being okay, and there was nothing Tony could do but wait. 

___

“Easy, Peter. You’re safe. Just try to keep your breaths steady while I figure out where to start.” Bruce Banner made himself speak calmly, shining a penlight into each of Peter’s eyes. The kid laid on his back, shivering hard enough to shake the gurney and whimpering through clenched teeth. He was staring at the white ceiling, his gaze totally unfocused. Bruce wasn’t even certain Peter had heard anything he’d said.

“What can I do?” Steve was in the room, beside him, staring at Peter with worried eyes.

“Uhh,” the doctor groaned, returning the penlight to his pocket and removing his glasses. He ran a hand over his face before replacing the frames on his nose, studying Peter intently. “Trying to figure that out myself. I’d like to hook him up to some monitors and IVs, but there’s no way I’m going to stick that kid with any more needles. I need to get those out, not to mention the nails, but his skin has healed over most of them and I’m scared to touch them while he’s conscious.” 

“Then put him under.” 

Bruce let out a small huff. “I’d love to, Steve, but Peter wouldn’t go out for long under normal circumstances. His metabolism is insane, and I can’t introduce new drugs into his system until I know what he’s already on.” The captain said nothing, watching a familiar expression cross Bruce’s face that told him the man’s giant brain was whirling. In a moment he seemed to have reached a decision. He crossed the room and lifted the jar of needles and purple liquid Tony had set on one of the rolling carts.

“What are you doing?” Steve moved, seemingly instinctively, to block him when the doctor approached Peter’s head.

“Move, Steve. Please. I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t important.” The captain hesitated for only another moment before backing up, chewing his lip uncomfortably. Bruce stood directly in Peter’s line of vision and went about getting his attention. 

“Peter? Hey, Pete? Can you look at me? Peter? That’s it,” he said when the kid finally dragged his gaze to the doctor. He’d managed to silence his whimpers, his jaw straining with the obvious effort. “Are you following my words? Can you look at something for me?” 

“Yeah,” he managed to choke out. 

“Okay, I know you’re not going to want to see this, but I have to ask.” He raised the jar to where Peter could look at it easily. “Are these the needles they used? Is this the liquid they put on them?”

Peter squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to see the jar past an initial glance. “Yeah. That’s it.” 

Bruce hated to keep pushing him, but he had to. “What about the nails? Peter?” he added his name when the kid remained quiet. 

“Same stuff. I think.”

“You’re not sure?” 

“Pretty sure,” he gasped, his voice weak. He’d made no effort to reopen his eyes.

“Okay, thank you. This is really good. Can you tell me if they gave you anything else? Any other drugs?” 

“No.” 

“You’re certain?”

“Wait...yeah. When they first...the darts…” 

“I know about those already,” Bruce broke in smoothly, not wanting Peter to continue struggling to talk when he didn’t have to. “That one would have worn off a long time ago. That’s all I needed. Just keep resting for a bit.”

He walked to Steve’s side and spoke in a low voice that Peter wouldn’t hear. “I need to run some tests on this stuff before I do anything else. I can’t risk a drug interaction without knowing what we’re dealing with.”

“How long will that take?”

“It’s hard to say. Maybe as long as an hour, but I’ll be as fast as I can. Can you stay with him until then?”

“Of course. What do you want me to do?”

“Just try to keep him calm. If he’s quiet, leave him alone. If he struggles, make sure he doesn’t move, but also try to keep him from feeling trapped. Let him know he’s safe. I don’t know how confused he’s going to be. I won’t know until I’m done with this.” He glared at the jar in his hand.

“Should I let him fall asleep? And what about the shivering? Should I get him a blanket?”

Bruce shook his head. “The shivers aren’t from cold, and any pressure on his skin, even a blanket, is going to hurt until those needles are out. He won’t be falling asleep either.” 

“How do…?” Steve started.

“He’s drugged out of his mind. That’s why he can’t stop shaking, and that’s why he won’t be falling asleep. It’s gotta be some kind of powerful stimulant, but I don’t know what else. You good here?”

Steve nodded. “Just hurry up, will you?”

“Fast as I can. Get me if you need me.” At that he disappeared into the next room, his lab, the jar of needles in hand.

___

Floating was so restful. So peaceful. Nothing had ever felt so good in his life. The world was black, his eyes must have been closed, and even though there was a slight nagging in the back of his mind, something like his spidey senses telling him that something awful was dangerously nearby, it was all too easy to just ignore. He wanted to float forever, would have floated forever, if the sudden agony, and rush of light and noise, hadn’t crashed down upon him like a million pounds.

His eyes had flown open, and he was back, screaming, fighting with everything he had in a room that was way too bright. He saw the Avengers, and it didn’t make sense. They were the good guys. They should have been helping him. But they weren’t. They were torturing him. They were killing him.

Captain America was there, leaning sideways across Peter’s chest, successfully pinning both his arms at his sides with his hands and shoulder. At least he looked like he was struggling, grunting with effort as Peter threw everything he had into breaking free. At his legs, Ironman, suit and all, was holding him tightly just above his ankles, keeping him from kicking or trying to escape the table. And worst of all was Banner, leaning in close to his abdomen with a pair of pliers. He was wearing safety goggles over his glasses, and they were totally flecked in blood. His gloved hand and the pliers were actually dripping with red as he continued to work the instrument deep into Peter’s hip. He felt something moving, bone, and shrieked even louder while doubling his efforts to escape. Both the captain and Ironman continued to hold him tight.

“Banner?” Tony Stark’s voice shouted over his screams, sounding strained. 

“I know, I know,” the doctor muttered. “But I’ve almost got this one, and…” he broke off, grunting as he yanked extra hard with the pliers. “Got it!” Peter felt something give, and what felt like a hot, metal poker was lifted from his body, burning through bone and muscle alike. In a moment it was out, and he watched a long nail clang into a bloody metal dish that already contained at least ten others like it. Banner lowered the pliers and pressed a piece of thick gauze to the spot where the nail had been. Only then did he meet Peter’s gaze, speaking calmly, but loudly enough to be heard over his continued screams.

“It’s okay, Peter. I’m sorry you woke up again. Just try to stop moving. We can take another break until you’re ready to keep going.”

What the heck was the crazy doctor talking about? He had just been torturing him seconds ago, and now he was acting like they’d had some sort of understanding. He’d said Peter had woken up “again,” and that he could take “another” break. He had no idea what any of that meant. He just needed the pain to stop. He needed them to get off of him. He sucked in a couple of gasping breaths, finally managing to stop screaming. He felt tears running toward his temples from the corners of his eyes. 

“That’s good,” Banner encouraged. “Just breathe.” He’d stopped fighting the hands that held him, and as a result they had loosened considerably without actually letting go. Captain America even raised himself off Peter’s chest, locking his fingers around each of his forearms instead. 

“I thought you were the good guys,” Peter finally moaned. His eyes fell on Mr. Stark. “I thought you wanted to help me be Spider Man. I thought...thought…” the words dried up. He was choking in pain. It was too hard to talk when everything hurt so much. He watched as Ironman’s mask drew back to reveal Mr. Stark’s real face. The man’s expression looked almost injured, but when he spoke his voice was even.

“You are Spider Man, Peter. That’s not going anywhere. And we are helping you. We have been for hours.” 

“But it hurts,” Peter moaned.

“I know,” Banner said from where he had begun placing tape over the gauze on his hip. “And I know it’s scary to wake up and not know why it hurts, but you have to trust us. We’ve been through this really a lot of times already. Do you remember any of that?”

Peter didn’t remember anything. Nothing but the floating. How he wished he was still floating.

“It’s okay if you don’t,” Banner continued. “You’ve been through a lot, and there are a lot of drugs ambling around your system. Just try and relax. I promise we’re working to make it better.” 

He was still feeling confused, but realized he had started to calm down at their words. It didn’t make sense that Mr. Stark would hurt him. The man had gone out of his way, and even told him off, enough times to prove that he cared about Peter’s safety. He had also met Banner before, when Mr. Stark dragged him to the medbay to get his stats entered into their medical records, and the doctor had seemed friendly enough then. Why would the guy have torn into him to the bone, and then immediately begun bandaging the wound with gentle fingers, if he really wanted him injured? Even Captain America, to whom he had never been formally introduced, at least not as Peter Parker, was giving him an encouraging half-smile that didn’t match the worry in his blue eyes.

“You said I can have a break?” Peter finally asked, still breathing heavily.

“Of course,” Banner said, finishing with the gauze and beginning to pull off his bloody gloves. It wasn’t until he removed the goggles that Peter realized how tired the man looked. He had a shadow of a beard and deep bags beneath his eyes, but he was still being patient and kind. “Just let me know when you’re ready for us to work on the needles again.”

Needles? The needles! It was suddenly coming back. It was jumbled in his head, but he remembered Bill. He remembered Alex and the needles. He remembered Carl. He remembered the nails. Oh gosh, he was going to be sick! 

“Peter?” Mr. Stark’s voice sounded worried, but he couldn’t answer. Instead he threw up all over himself and the gurney. Captain America was quick to roll him onto his side so he wouldn’t choke on it, but the change in position was painful enough to make him vomit a second time. He laid there gasping, squeezing his eyes shut against the hurt, until he became aware of a firm hand on the back of his head.

“We’ve got you,” Mr. Stark’s voice came again, suddenly near his ear. He forced his eyes open and realized the man had left his suit and was standing with a hand on his hair, watching him with concerned eyes. “Just breathe. We’re not going to do anything until you’re ready.”

His memory still wasn’t working right. He kept having flashes of what had happened with Murphy, and then flashes of the medbay. Alex shoving needles under his skin. Banner placing a mask over his mouth and nose that made him sleep. Bill strangling him until he passed out. Mr. Stark helping him drink from a straw. Carl punching nails through his bones. Banner removing the needles while he screamed. It had all happened. It was all real. And it was all completely and utterly terrifying.

He stared again at the three men above him. They seemed to be waiting for him to say something, but he couldn’t find any words. Instead he let his eyes drift to the ceiling. It was clean and white. No yellow water stains to focus on, but still better than thinking about anything else. He let his mind drift until it was empty. 

___

Tony tried not to feel too frustrated when Peter’s eyes found the ceiling for what had to be at least the twentieth time. It was how he kept leaving them while still remaining conscious. His eyes were already back to that glassy, unfocused, gone, that Tony had grown to hate. He didn’t realize how tense he’d become until Steve’s hand on his shoulder caused him to jump.

“He’s just trying to escape,” the captain said. “Don’t take it personally.”

“It’s not personal,” he grumbled, lifting his hand from Peter’s head. The only part of him that didn’t seem to be painful. “I just want this over.”

“We’re getting closer,” Bruce said, already wiping up the vomit from Peter’s chest and the gurney.

“It would be so much easier if he didn’t keep forgetting.” Tony suddenly realized that he had begun pacing beside the bed, but he didn’t want to stop.

“It’s the drug interactions,” Bruce said. “His memory is probably okay.” Tony said nothing. Bruce had already explained that at least four times.

After he had arrived back at the compound and dropped Peter off at the medbay, Rhodey had forced him out. He’d led him to the living room where he poured him a drink and made him calm down while Banner conducted his initial assessment of Peter’s injuries. He didn’t even realize he’d been worked up until he was seated, empty glass in hand, and became aware of how much calmer he felt.

He’d returned to the medbay shortly after Banner finished checking out the mystery liquid that was currently racing through Peter’s bloodstream and seeping into his bones. Bruce admitted that he had been unable to identify all of its components, which made Tony uncomfortable, but said it was made largely of several very strong stimulants and a combination of chemicals that caused intense and prolonged burning and stinging. He explained, reluctantly, that Peter was likely feeling the pain throughout his body, but that it would be especially bad where the drug had gotten deeper into his muscles and bones.

Because Bruce was unwilling to stick Peter with any additional needles, or even place any cuffs and wires over his skin until the needles were out, he checked his pulse with two fingers on his throat and a watch. Unsurprisingly, Peter’s heartrate was extremely elevated, even for him, and Banner said it was likely his blood pressure was also higher than it should be. He was frustrated that he was unable to gauge the latter, but kept his usual calm while he figured out where to begin treatment.

Even though Bruce was worried about mixing such a high dose of stimulants against an anesthetic, he finally admitted that he wasn’t willing to try removing the nails with Peter awake. A few quick x-rays had already proven that the nails had cracked, if not crushed, part of every bone they had entered. That, along with the fact that Peter’s rapid healing had already closed his skin, and probably muscle, around the nails, meant that removing them was going to be tricky, time-consuming, and ludicrously painful. 

After closely studying Peter’s medical charts and drawing up some complicated equations that he made look easy, Bruce finally said he was willing to put Peter under with the use of anesthetic gas no more than once every three hours. His math indicated that, with Peter’s crazy metabolism, he wouldn’t stay out longer than thirty minutes at a time. They would have to make the most of the time they had to remove the nails before Peter woke up. 

So that’s what they had done. It was agreed that Steve and Tony, in his suit, would stay in the room in order to help Peter stay still when things got rough. None of them had liked the idea of strapping Peter to the gurney when he’d already been tied up for so long. They wanted him to feel as safe and in control as possible. This was explained to him, along with their plan to put him under for the nails. It had been decided that Peter would be awake for the removal of the needles. Bruce said the sooner they were out, the better, and that he wasn’t willing to risk additional strain on Peter’s body by keeping him under for it. Peter had listened to the explanation and agreed to their plan, but it was obvious that he hadn’t heard much past the promise that he was going to get to black out. He’d seemed more ready than anyone in the room to get started. 

That had been twelve hours ago, and they were maybe halfway there. It had been nearing daylight before Bruce was ready to give Peter the gas the first time, and now it was approaching early evening. Removing the nails was slow. They were deep, trapped in bone, and encased in newly-healed muscle. Bruce had to keep each one as straight and steady as he could upon removal in order to minimize the damage to Peter’s bones. On the really bad ones, he even had to pull out his scalpel and cut away at skin and muscle. So far he had removed all the nails from Peter’s hips and knees, but still needed to get to those in his elbows, ribs, shins, and scapulas.

Every time Peter came out from under the gas, they gave him some time to calm down before talking about the needles. He had frequently begun to forget what was going on, but they were as patient as they could be while waiting for him to remember. Even though it was awful, he always agreed to let them work on the needles once he became more aware. 

Despite everything he had been through, it still took a lot of strength from both Steve and Tony to keep Peter still while Bruce removed the needles with a pair of tweezers. The doctor was quick and efficient, but the needles were long, and Peter’s skin had completely healed over the top of them. Bruce was forced to re-puncture the badly inflamed skin around each needle in order to remove it, and it was obvious that the painful chemicals that coated them were still fully in effect. 

It felt like a race, with Bruce working to remove as many needles as possible before Peter screamed he couldn’t take it anymore and needed a break. They always followed his call, but that meant the removal was taking a long time. The doctor had already gotten out close to eighty of the things, but there were still so many to go. He took the periods of rest to gently wipe a warm rag over the pinpricks of blood left behind, and to place small bandages on the spots that were bleeding a little more steadily.

Now, while Peter was still spaced out, Bruce disappeared from the room, leaving Steve and Tony with the kid. He returned fifteen minutes later with wet hair, and a tray that contained three mugs of coffee and three peanut butter sandwiches. He gestured for the two men to join him when he set the tray on a small table just a few feet from Peter. “Sit down,” he said, pulling up one of the three chairs that surrounded the table. 

Though Tony was reluctant to leave Peter’s side, it wasn’t like the kid even realized anyone was still in the room with him. He let out a breath and followed Steve to the table, feeling his legs shutter with relief once he was seated. He hadn’t realized before just how long he had been standing, and it wasn’t like it didn’t take effort to hold a wildly thrashing Spider Man still. He was exhausted. They all were.

“Eat,” Bruce said, lifting his own sandwich from the tray. “Peter needs some time, and so do we. We’re not going to be any good to him if we start falling over ourselves because we forgot to take a rest.”

Steve was already holding his mug of coffee, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. He had a bruise along one side of his jaw from where Peter had managed to headbutt him while out of his head with pain. “You doing okay, Bruce? Your hands must be killing you.”

“They’re tired,” he admitted with his mouth full. “But so is the rest of me. I stuck my head under a cold faucet. It helped.” 

Tony chuckled, but there was zero real humor in it. “The Incredible Hulk, kept awake by ice water.”

“Better than nothing,” the doctor grunted, sliding one of the sandwiches in front of Tony. He picked it up and took a bite, even though he didn’t really feel hungry. Peter was the one who hadn’t eaten for three days. They had gotten him to drink a few times, but he was throwing up pretty often now. Bruce had said it would be better to wait until the nails and needles were out before putting anything in his stomach.

“When do we keep going?” Steve asked, grabbing his own sandwich.

“Soon, hopefully,” Bruce said. “Once we can get him to focus again and tell us he’s ready.” 

“How’s it going?” Nat approached the table, having silently entered the room. Various members of the team had been checking in on them periodically, making sure there was nothing they could do to help. For the most part it was just a waiting game for them. Nat, Clint, and Thor had first returned a little after noon, informing them that Alex and Carl had returned to the warehouse that morning. The men apparently managed to warn Murphy before going down, as the man never showed up. That made Tony’s blood boil, but it wasn’t as if Murphy was any threat to them now. They weren’t given too many details about what had happened to the other two men, but it was understood that they were no longer breathing, and that the nail gun ended up having a lot to do with that. Good.

“We’re about halfway,” Bruce said.

“Jeez,” she looked toward Peter. “How’s he taking it?”

“He’s strong,” Steve said. “This is in no way easy, but he’s hanging in there.”

She nodded, frowning. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Not yet,” Bruce said. “We’ve just got to get through this part first.”

“Well let me know if that changes. We’re all right upstairs, if you need us.” She touched Bruce’s shoulder, lightly, before leaving them alone once more.”

Her visit seemed to renew the doctor’s energy, and he stood, draining his coffee in three large gulps, before replacing the empty mug on the tray. “You guys good to see if he’s ready?”

“Yep.” Steve crammed the rest of his sandwich into his mouth and spoke through the peanut butter. “Tony?”

He made himself take one more bite of sandwich before finding his feet. “Yeah, let’s do this.” 

In truth, he wanted nothing less than to listen to Peter’s screams start all over again, knowing that each shriek was his fault. If he’d left the kid alone, in Queens, instead of pulling him into his own selfish shit, none of this ever would have happened. He shook his head, hard. There would be time for guilt. Plenty. But not yet. Right now he had to see Peter through this. That was all that mattered. He watched Bruce and Steve return to the gurney, and made his own way to Peter’s head where he could try again to bring him back. Make him focus. So he could agree to being hurt once more.


	6. Chapter 6

He knew he was coming back. Sound had returned with the distant hum of machinery and the noise of footsteps moving far above him, but mostly it was quiet. He was fairly certain he wouldn’t have been able to hear anything at all if it wasn’t for his heightened senses. He took several slow breaths, not really wanting to open his eyes. He wasn’t in pain. Well, that might have been pushing it, but he definitely wasn’t in agony anymore. It had been what felt like a long time since he’d been able to say that.

He finally opened his eyes, blinking slowly and praying that his recent memories were real. It seemed like they were when the medbay of the Avengers Compound came into view. The room was dim, with the only light coming from a shaded lamp in the far corner of the room. He also realized there were several monitors around him. He wasn’t sure what they all were, but the nearest one was definitely tracking his heart rate. He watched the white line on the screen jumping up and down at a steady rhythm. He realized then that all of the monitors had been silenced, and their screens dimmed to the lowest possible lighting. It was nice. He didn’t often have the option of not facing overstimulation. Everything was always so bright and loud without his suit. He was glad he didn’t have to worry about blocking it out for once.

He was still amazed that he had slept. He had finally slept. Everything since the nail video, which he tried to put from his mind, was still pretty hazy. He remembered Dr. Banner, Captain America, and Mr. Stark standing over him, holding him down at times. He remembered the doctor putting a mask over his mouth and nose that knocked him out for short periods, but which never made him feel any more rested. He remembered the needles being removed from his body. For hours and hours and hours. He even had cloudy memories of agreeing to it. He remembered being told it was over, that the nails and needles were gone, and that he could rest. He remembered someone forcing him to drink. He remembered soft words that sounded encouraging, but that he couldn’t make out. He remembered begging his body to rest, to free him from the exhaustion and agony, and he remembered having to wait a really really long time before that finally happened. But, at last, he had slept.

“Peter?” The soft voice startled him, and he suddenly realized he wasn’t alone in the room. His gaze felt a little sluggish as it traveled to the left side of his bed where someone was sitting in a chair.

“Oh, hey Mr. Stark.” The words came out more gravely than he would have liked, and he found himself wondering how long he had been asleep. He was finally aware enough to become self conscious that a billionaire, Ironman, was sitting at his bedside.

At the sound of his voice, the man leaned forward in his chair, extending one hand as if to touch his arm, but freezing before it actually made contact. Instead it remained hovering awkwardly in the air. “I’m glad you’re up. How do you feel?”

Peter sighed, suddenly aware and appreciative of the soft pillow under his head, and the blanket across his body. “Good.”

Upon hearing that, Mr. Stark looked like he was about to cry. It was confusing to see the billionaire, who was always so sarcastic and, at times, harsh, looking so soft. He cleared his throat a couple times before speaking. “I’m glad to hear it, Pete. Really glad.” He climbed to his feet. “I’ll be right back, okay? I’m going to go get Dr. Banner.” 

“Okay.” He still felt tired, so he closed his eyes again and listened to Mr. Stark leaving. It felt amazing to just be still. He didn’t remember when the shaking had stopped; just the pain and exhaustion of the constant, often violent, trembling that he’d had no power to control. Yeah, the still and quiet were both really really good.

“Hey, Peter. You awake?” He had heard the footsteps returning, but didn’t open his eyes until the sound of Banner’s voice. Mr. Stark and the doctor were both standing beside him, and the latter gave him a big smile. “Hi, there! Welcome back.” 

“Uh...hi,” he managed, not quite meeting the man’s enthusiasm. Everything still felt pretty groggy. “How...How long was I…?” 

“Thirty-nine hours,” Mr. Stark answered before he could even finish the question.

Peter felt his eyes widen, but Banner was talking before he could say anything. “And you earned every second of it. I’d be surprised if you weren’t still feeling tired, but let’s get you checked over before you go back to sleep.” 

Peter didn’t say anything. He was still taking everything in. He knew he was feeling better than he had in days, but he still didn’t want to move. He glanced down at himself, realizing he was still shirtless. There was a soft blanket covering him to his navel, but the exposed skin he saw was scattered with various strips of gauze. His arms were flat at his sides, and both elbows were wrapped in white bandages. He couldn’t see the rest of his body, but he was pretty sure he didn’t want to. Not yet.

He felt a slight pang in his stomach when he looked at his right arm and noticed two needles embedded in his wrist, but quickly realized they were unlike the ones his captors had used. There were pieces of tape over each needled, and protruding from each of them was a long tube leading to a different hanging IV bag beside the bed. He also noticed a third needle and tube embedded beneath his right clavicle. Dr. Banner must have followed his gaze, because he was speaking again.

“I’m sorry about that, Peter. Sticking you with needles was the absolute last thing I wanted to do, but it was the only way I could keep you hydrated and get some nutrients into you while you were out. We also needed to start flushing the drugs out of your system.” The man actually looked guilty when Peter dragged his gaze from the IVs to look at him.

“It’s okay,” he finally said. “I don’t even feel it.”

“Good!” Banner grinned again. “That’s what I was hoping. Now, do you feel up to answering a few questions?” As he talked he checked over the various monitors, as well as the IV bags, adding notes to the tablet in his hand as he did so. 

“I think so,” Peter said.

“If anything becomes too much, you just say so, okay?” Mr. Stark interjected. His eyes still had that unnerving look of concern that Peter wasn’t sure what to make of, but he just nodded.

“First thing,” Dr. Banner said. “I want to see how your memory is doing. You had a lot of gaps and confusion before. I think it was probably due to the drugs, but now that they’re clearing out of your bloodstream I want to double check. Just to be on the safe side. Do you remember your name?”

He was suddenly fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “Peter.”

“Peter what?” 

“Peter Parker. Peter Benjamin Parker. Spider Man. Sophomore. Science nerd. What are you looking for here?” Mr. Stark let out a snort at his sass. It was nice to hear.

“I know this seems silly,” Banner said. “And I’m glad you’re feeling up to joking, but I promise there’s a reason for it. How old are you?” 

“Fifteen.”

“Who’s this?” He pointed to the man beside him. 

“Mr. Stark.”

“And who am I?”

“The Incredible Hulk.” Banner frowned at that, while Mr. Stark snorted again.

“I think you’re just being difficult, but I’ve got to make sure. What’s my real name?” 

“Dr. Bruce Banner. Sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Mr. Stark said. “I’m enjoying it.” Dr. Banner glared at him, but continued without comment. 

“Who is your legal guardian?” 

“Aunt May.”

“Where do you live?”

“Queens.” 

“When’s your birthday?”

“August tenth.” 

“Okay, that all seems good. Now I’m going to ask you something more difficult to check your recent memory. What was the name of the man who kidnapped you?” 

Peter could almost feel the color leaving his face, all desire to joke evaporating along with it. He closed his eyes. “Bill.”

“That’s good, Peter. Do you remember the names of his companions?” 

“Yeah.” He didn’t say anything else. He didn’t want to be thinking about this. He jumped when he felt a hand come to rest on top of his head, but in a moment decided the contact was comforting.

“Can you tell me what they were?” Banner finally prodded gently.

“Alex,” it came out a whisper. “And…” He was suddenly having trouble remembering the other one. “I always just called him Muscle Head in my mind.”

“That’s all I needed,” Banner said. “We don’t have to discuss that anymore.”

He let out a sigh of relief, opening his eyes again and realizing Mr. Stark was the one touching his head. He smiled when Peter met his gaze, but it still looked forced. He withdrew his hand.

“Now what?” Peter asked, looking to Banner. 

“Now I just want you to keep relaxing. A little later on I want to take some more x-rays and see how your bones are healing. Yesterday they looked like they had started to heal on their own, thanks to your amazing ability, but I want to make sure everything is as it should be. If they continue healing I won’t have to put you in any casts. How’s your pain coming along?”

“It’s fine,” he said automatically, earning him a frown from both men. 

“You’ve been through a lot, and so has your body,” the doctor said. “I know you’re Spider Man, but right now I just need you to be Peter. How’s it feeling, one to ten?”

Peter hesitated. He was more awake now, but the fog definitely hadn’t gone completely away. He had been trying not to focus too hard on his body, afraid of what he would feel, but at Banner’s request he finally let himself take it in. Everything ached. His skin, his blood, his bones. It all felt too hot, but that also came with a strange stinging feeling. Almost like an inflamed jab from a hornet, only everywhere. There was also a really awful burning emanating from every place a nail had entered his bones. It was only a few degrees cooler than fire. He knew he had broken ribs, and that was probably why his chest felt heavy and breathing hurt. However, compared to what he had been going through before, all of it seemed thoroughly manageable.

“Two?” he finally said.

The doctor audibly sighed. “Peter, there’s no way you’re only at a two after the amount of trauma you’ve experienced.”

Mr. Stark broke in before he could respond, his voice suddenly firm. “I know you’re big on having us think you’re tough, Spiderling, and you are, but right now it’s more important for you to be honest. The truth. Now.” 

It was hard to argue with that tone and look, but Peter still stumbled over his words. “I’m not...I mean...It’s not that. I just don’t know. Before it hurt so much. There weren’t words, there wasn’t even a scale, but now...It’s much better so I don’t...I mean I can’t…”

“Woah,” Banner said, his tone and voice softening immediately. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot. I’m just trying to figure out how to best manage it. The drugs you were given aren’t totally out of your system yet, but we’ve flushed out enough that I can give you some Spider Man level pain meds if you need them. I’ve been working on something that might be able to power through your metabolism, but it could give you a headache and make you nauseous. I just need to know if your pain is bad enough that you want to risk that?”

“Oh,” he felt himself calming without even realizing he’d been worked up. “Yeah. Some meds would be good.”

“Was that so hard?” Mr. Stark sounded exasperated as Banner retrieved a small vial. He inserted the medication into one of the IV ports.

“You should hopefully start feeling some relief in ten or fifteen minutes,” the doctor said. “But I’ve never made anything this strong before. Your abilities are new to me, so this is kind of trial and error. Because of that, I need you to be really open with me about how you’re reacting to the medicine. I can tweak it as we go.”

“Okay,” Peter agreed, trying not to feel too concerned that he was basically being used as a guinea pig. It would be worth it if the meds made him feel better. 

“I’d really like to get some liquids and solid food into you. Hopefully the meds won’t make you too nauseous to keep it down. Think you can stomach something?” 

He really didn’t feel hungry, and the thought of sitting up was less than appealing. “Do I have to?” 

“I’d really like you to try,” Banner said. “The intravenous solutions are keeping you going, but they’re not an ideal fix, especially with your metabolism being what it is. The amount of weight you’re losing is starting to make me uncomfortable. How about we start with some Gatorade and see how you feel from there?” 

He finally nodded, feeling like he didn’t have a choice. A drink would probably make his throat less dry. His voice still sounded like he’d swallowed a pound of sawdust. “Okay.” 

“Great! I’ll go get something. Tony, why don’t you help him sit up a little while I’m gone.” He disappeared from the room, leaving the pair alone. 

Mr. Stark moved so he was standing near his shoulder. “Ready to move?”

“No.”

“No?” That concerned look was coming back. 

“Please, I don’t want to.”

“Pain?”

“Yeah, it’s gonna hurt.” 

Mr. Stark hesitated. “Well you can’t drink flat on your back. What if I just prop you up a little? Lots of pillows behind you.”

Peter closed his eyes, unable to argue while looking at the man. His voice was small. “I really don’t want to.” 

“It’ll be okay. Come on.” At that he felt one arm lock around his back, the hand hooking beneath his armpit to pull him slowly upward. He was only moved about a foot before he was lying back, propped against the pillows. It hurt. Especially where his hips were now supporting some of his weight. The arm disappeared, but Peter didn’t open his eyes. He breathed quickly through his nose, biting his lip hard. He was afraid a pathetic moan would escape if he opened his mouth. 

“I’m sorry,” Mr. Stark said. “You alright?” He made himself nod, still not ready to open his eyes. He hoped the pain medication would kick in soon. “Peter, you need to stop biting your lip. You’re making it bleed.” 

He was? He hadn’t realized, but at Mr. Stark’s words he became aware of the taste of copper in his mouth. He forced himself to release his lip. As he’d feared, a small moan escaped, but it wasn’t quite as pitiful as he’d feared it would be. He found his voice. “Sorry.”

“No reason to be.” He felt a damp rag wiping at his chin and lip. “I’m sure your powers will have it healed within the hour.” The man was right, of course. Not that a split lip was at the top of his list of concerns.

“What happened?” Banner was back. Peter finally made himself open his eyes to see the man holding a tray with two bottles of Gatorade, one blue and one red, and a steaming bowl.”

“Sitting up was hard, but we’re okay now, right, Pete?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Just awesome.” That got him another grin from Mr. Stark. 

“Whatever you say,” Banner said, setting the tray on a table beside the gurney before taking a seat near Peter’s head. He held up both bottles of Gatorade. “Name your poison.”

“Uh...red?”

“Good choice,” Mr. Stark said. “The blue one tastes like bathroom cleaner.” 

“Yeah, I know.”

Banner unscrewed the lid. “If you finish this bottle and have some soup, I think it’ll be safe to get some of these IVs out.” He plunked a straw into the Gatorade and brought it to Peter’s lips.

It ended up taking over an hour, but he eventually finished the sports drink and half the soup, which turned out to be chicken noodle. It was embarrassing to be fed like an infant, and the simple act of eating left him exhausted. Thanks to the pain medication it wasn’t nearly as bad when they helped him lie flat on his back again. He closed his eyes and felt Banner remove the needle from his shoulder and one of the two from his wrist. He explained that he was keeping one in for medication, as well as to continue flushing out the drugs. Peter only half heard him, and in another minute he was asleep once more.

___

Peter wasn’t doing as well as they had hoped. The first time he woke up had been encouraging. It was obvious that he was still only partially with them at the time, his eyes cloudy and slightly unfocused, but he had spoken coherently and sat up enough to eat. After the kid fell back asleep, Tony had finally relaxed enough to go take a shower and grab a couple hours of sleep on one of the couches in the medbay. He was just down the hall from Peter’s room, and was woken up by the sound of running footsteps and muttered voices. He glanced at his watch, fisting the sleep from his eyes. It was almost two in the morning.

He hurried back to Peter’s room, noticing that the dimmed lights had been turned up enough for the non-enhanced Avengers to see their youngest member clearly. Bruce, Steve, and Nat were all in the room, the first two flitting around the bed while Nat leaned against the wall in the corner, her mouth pressed into a line of concern. “What’s going on?” Tony demanded.

Bruce looked up from where he was holding a plastic bucket beneath Peter’s chin. Steve was behind the kid, grasping his shoulders and helping him sit up partially as he vomited repeatedly into the bucket. “He’s reacting badly to the pain medication,” Bruce said.

“When did this start?”

“Ten minutes ago. It’s okay.” The last part was soft, an attempt to comfort Peter as he paused between retches. His eyes were closed, and he was shuttering, moaning softly as he remained in his hunched position.

“I can’t...I can’t…” Peter panted the words before heaving again. Tony watched Steve’s fingers tighten slightly around the kid’s shoulders. 

“Just try and breathe through it,” Tony said, laying a hand on Peter’s hair. He hadn’t even been aware of approaching the bed. Peter continued vomiting for several long minutes before there was another break. He leaned back, gasping, his entire weight falling against the captain’s hands. Steve lowered him gently onto his back before releasing his grip.

“You’re okay,” Bruce encouraged again, setting the bucket aside and wiping a damp rag over Peter’s mouth and chin. “Everything’s just fine.”

“Can’t...breathe.” The choked words startled Tony, and he looked to Bruce in alarm, but the doctor remained calm. He glanced toward the monitor that read Peter’s oxygen levels before speaking.

“Yes you can, your ribs are just making it a little tricky. I know it feels tight and heavy, but you’re getting air. I promise.”

“Stop…” he was still gasping, eyes squeezed tight.

“Stop what?” Bruce asked.

“Stop…need...stop…” 

“What needs to stop, Peter?” 

Tony didn’t know how Bruce sounded so calm. It was all he could do to keep himself from panicking when Peter continued pleading in that hurt voice. He started running his fingers through the kid’s hair, desperate to do anything to help.

“Shivers...tired...n-n-no more.” 

That finally made sense. Peter had been shivering for days without pause before they found him. Having them return now must have been frightening and painful. He didn’t need to be feeling out of control again.

“They’ll stop,” Bruce said. “It’s not like before. Your body is reacting to the nausea and panic. Once you calm down it’ll go away.” As he spoke he pulled an extra blanket from the foot of the bed, drawing it up to Peter’s chin.

“It hurts,” he moaned. 

“What’s hurting, Peter?” Tony spoke before he could stop himself. He knew he should let the doctor handle it, but he needed to know.

“Head...ears.” His arms shifted on the bed as he spoke. It was obvious he wanted to drag his hands up to his head, but it was still impossible to bend his elbows after the nails. He hadn’t even managed to curl his fingers since the needles had been removed. Tony understood instantly. 

“FRIDAY, dim lights to ten percent and block out all outside noises.” The AI complied immediately, the room going dark and quiet.

“What did…?” 

“Look,” Tony cut off Bruce’s question at a whisper, gesturing to Peter. He had already stilled on the bed, his eyes closed but no longer tightly squeezed. His forehead was still creased in pain, but he was obviously more relaxed. “His heightened senses can become easily overloaded. Light and sound are very painful when that happens.”

“You mentioned that before,” Bruce was also whispering now. “We had it dim and quiet for his recovery, but I forgot when he woke up sick. Sorry, Peter.” 

“‘ts kay,” he mumbled. His shivers had already mostly stopped.

“What else do you need?” Tony asked. 

“Tired.” 

“Then go back to sleep,” Bruce said.

“Scared.”

“You’re safe,” Tony promised, suddenly aware that his hand was still in Peter’s hair. He didn’t remove it.

“Stay, ‘iser S’ark?”

“Yeah, kid, I’ll stay.” Peter was out before he even finished the promise. It was only then the group seemed to let out a collective sigh.

“Good thinking with the lights,” Steve said, quietly clapping Tony on the shoulder.

“You okay?” Nat had appeared beside Bruce, where he was checking over the screens that read Peter’s vitals.

“Yeah. I want to see if I can make some adjustments to his medication. I’m having trouble finding a dosage that will do anything before his metabolism burns through it. Anything high enough to help makes him vomit. He can’t afford to keep losing nutrients. I should get him going on more fluids, but I just can’t bring myself to stick him with another needle right now.” He took off his glasses, massaging the bridge of his nose with his free hand.

“When was the last time you slept?” Nat asked, placing one hand lightly on his shoulder.

“What? Oh, I don’t know. I need to go to my lab. See if I can find him a combination that will actually do more good than harm before he wakes up again.”

“You need to rest,” Nat said, suddenly firm.

Bruce looked at her, taking a step back to escape the touch. “I will. Once I’m not the only thing keeping a tortured fifteen-year-old out of debilitating pain.” He turned his back on them then, walking from the room. They could see him through the glass panes, heading in the direction of his lab, looking more sad and tired than any of them had seen him since he’d hulked out in New York.

“He’s just stressed,” Steve said, looking to where Nat was still staring at the empty doorway.

“I know,” she shrugged it off, her face expressionless. Anyone who didn’t know her well would think she actually wasn’t hurt. “Is there anything else I can do here? Anyone need a coffee?”

“You should go to bed,” Tony said, moving to the chair at Peter’s bedside. “You too, Steve. You guys look bushed.”

“You’re one to talk,” Steve said.

“I’m okay, and I made a promise.”

Steve looked between Peter’s still form and to where Tony sat watching him, fiddling with his watch at the same time. “You really care about him, don’t you?”

“What?” Tony snapped upright in the chair, staring at Steve.

“I’ve seen how worried you’ve been. We all have. You care a lot about this kid.” 

“He’s right,” Nat said, crossing her arms and giving him a knowing look.

“You guys were there. You saw the videos.”

“We all cared,” Steve said. “Of course we wanted to get him out of there. But it’s different with you.”

“It was my fault!” He accidentally raised his voice, and they all fell silent, watching Peter. When he didn’t stir, Tony continued, his words quieter. “What you’re seeing is guilt. Murphy was trying to get to me, and he used a kid to do it. A kid that I never should have brought into my mess in the first place. He’s fifteen. I don’t know what the hell I was thinking. So yeah, I care. I care a hell of a lot that I let a high school student get tortured for two days straight. Bruce all but said it already. This was wrong, and it’s on me.” 

“That’s not what Bruce said!” Nat hissed. “And I don’t think he’d be happy about you twisting his words so you could beat up on yourself.” 

“It’s more than that anyway,” Steve said. “I’m sure you do feel guilty about this, that was Murphy’s intention, but I’ve seen the way Peter looks at you. He trusts you. I don’t know why you thought to bring him to the airport that day, but that was months ago. He’s been hanging around the compound a lot since then. Half the team has had lunch with him by now, even if they didn’t know exactly who he was. Spider Man was always going to get into trouble. It’s my best guess that you were trying to protect him by keeping him close.” 

Tony let out a huff, sinking back down in his chair. Half of him was relieved that Steve saw the truth, even if he wasn’t ready to defend himself yet. “Just go. It’s late, and I don’t want to talk about this anymore.” 

“That’s fine,” Nat said. “But remember that he asked you to stay. He didn’t do that just so you could wallow in guilt.” She disappeared from the room before he could respond.

“Night, Tony.” Steve followed her out, leaving him alone with Peter.

Tony looked at the kid again, watching the rise and fall of his chest. He looked small. Nothing like the bright ball of motion and sound he had grown used to. He often found Peter annoying, the endless, stuttering chatter hitting all the right nerves to give him a headache, but now he just missed the voice. Missed the energy. He wanted Peter back. The way he was supposed to be.

“I’m sorry, kid,” he whispered, knowing no one was around to hear him. “I’m so so sorry.” His only answer was silence. He hadn’t been expecting anything else, but it was hard to stomach all the same. He suddenly felt very alone, and he knew he deserved it more than anyone. It was really the least he had earned. 

___

It was quiet, and everything was dark. Peter didn’t even know if he’d managed to open his eyes. His senses were much more at ease with the lack of noise and light. The last time he’d been awake there had been too much of everything. It had felt like his head was going to explode. He would have been grateful for the change if he wasn’t in so much pain.

Even though they were gone now, he could still feel where every one of the needles had been. The flesh and muscle just beneath his skin felt itchy and hot. If possible, he would have inserted ice water into his veins just to ease the burn, and that wasn’t even taking into account how his bones felt. It still felt like acid was traveling through each of the holes the nails had created, seeping between the shattered fragments and deep into the marrow, even as his skeleton struggled to fuse the breaks back together. His ribs, in particular, were bad, making it hard to breathe. Anything more than a shallow breath led to the feeling of the bones in his chest splintering all over again. It was agony. 

“I’ve got ya, Peter. Shhh, I’ve got ya.” 

The quiet words were nearby, and without them he probably wouldn’t have realized he was squirming on his back, soft whimpers escaping between his lips. He wanted to scream. He wanted to thrash and tear at his skin, to make the burn go away, but the slight shifting was all he could manage. 

“I can’t…” The words came out a whine. He didn’t remember who was at his side, but he needed help. He needed to hurt less. 

“You’re okay. I’m right here.” He was suddenly aware of a warm hand on his wrist, squeezing gently. How long had that been there? 

“I can’t…!” It came out louder, more desperate this time. He felt his back arch slightly off the bed, a reaction to the pain in his hips and shoulders. The movement made him hurt worse, but he couldn’t stop. He couldn’t lie flat.

“Hang on. This isn’t going to last. Banner is working on some stronger pain meds that won’t make you sick. You’ve got this.” 

He didn’t. He definitely didn’t. The pain was totally out of control. It was going to beat him. Any minute, it was going to win. He wanted it to win.

“Stop,” it came out a breathless hiss, barely audible. “Make...stop…”

“It’s going to stop. I promise.” The hand had tightened on his wrist, and he felt a second one come to his face, calloused fingers wiping away tears that he hadn’t even known were there. “What can I do? How can I help you?”

“Let me die.” It was less than a whisper, but the person beside him heard. There was a gasp, and then a beat of silence, before the response came. When it did, the words were firm.

“No, don’t ask for that. You are not giving up. Do you hear me, Parker? You are not giving up. You don’t get to die. Not before me, not anytime soon, so screw your head on straight and get ready to fight. I know you have been, but I need you to step it up now. You’re Spider Man for gosh sakes, and Spider Man doesn’t ask for death. Spider Man fights and wins, every time.”

Peter didn’t even try to answer. The confident monologue reminded him who the voice belonged to. No one could forget Tony Stark when he was serious about something. Instead, he lowered his body back onto the bed, whimpering pitifully as he did so. He could barely move, and any position he was able to find failed to offer relief. He couldn’t fight it any longer. It didn’t matter what Mr. Stark said; he wasn’t Spider Man. He was just Peter. He was just a kid who’d passed his pain threshold days ago. It was over. He stopped trying to breathe, and the hurt in his chest abated immediately. It was nice.

“Peter?” Mr. Stark’s voice was worried. “Peter?” There were hands on his shoulders, gripping him hard, but he had finally gone still. It felt so good not to move.

“Bruce!” The word was bellowed, and the hands were now shaking him. “Peter! Don’t do this! You don’t get to do this! Breathe. Right now. Take a breath, Peter!”

“What is it?” Dr. Banner’s voice had joined them. It was sounding far away. So was Mr. Stark’s, but the further the voices got, the further the pain did as well. Peter liked it.

“He’s not breathing! He’s not breathing, Bruce!”

“Move.” Mr. Stark’s grip disappeared, but was immediately replaced by firm fingers on his chest. They only stayed there a moment before traveling up to his cheeks. Banner’s voice was low and professional. “Peter, come on. I know it hurts, and I’m so sorry about that, but I need you to keep breathing. I can make you breathe, but it’s not going to be comfortable. It would be much better if you’d do it yourself. I know you can. You have to be brave. Now, with me, in…” The sound of a long inhale followed, but Peter didn’t attempt to mimic it. Everything was turning white, and the pain was fading quickly. He didn’t understand why they would try to take that away from him.

“Bruce…” 

“Quiet, Tony. Peter, come on. In…” The inhale was repeated. Peter continued to ignore it. He felt light. A loud, rushing sound had entered his ears. He thought maybe he was flying, or at least swinging through the city on his webs. Voices continued muttering at the edge of his consciousness, but he was too far gone to worry about them. At least until Banner shouted. He’d never heard the doctor yell before.

“Peter!” He was yanked harshly into a seated position, and everything came souring back. He gasped in a long, choked breath, the sudden, searing pain shooting through his hips and chest dragging him violently back to reality. He heard a strangled scream tear through his throat before he was panting, his head spinning. It took him over a minute to become aware of the hands on his shoulders, and a second pair pressed against his back, both holding him up. He was hunched forward, his forehead pressed against a solid chest. He opened eyes that he hadn’t known were closed to see Banner’s lab coat pressed against his cheek. He made no effort to raise his head. 

“That’s it, Peter. Good, just even it out. That’s good.” The doctor’s voice was calm and soothing again the moment Peter was breathing. He made no move to draw the boy away from his chest.

“Is he okay?” Mr. Stark’s voice was shaking, as were the hands on his back.

“Calm down, Tony. He’s okay for now.”

“What was that?”

Banner hesitated, rubbing gentle circles across Peter’s shoulder. “That was a choice. Nothing was keeping him from breathing. You can’t do that, Peter.” 

He was still panting a little, but he found his voice, whimpering as he spoke. “It hurts too much.” 

“We’re working on that,” Banner said. “But you have to keep breathing. I was about to intubate you. That means putting a tube down your throat and making a machine breathe for you. It wouldn’t feel good, and you’d have no control over your chest. Please don’t make me do that.”

“No.” 

“It doesn’t sound fun, right? That’s why you can’t give up like you just did.”

He didn’t have any more words. His lungs were greedy for oxygen, and his body was set on torturing him through every last breath and movement. He heard himself moaning after every exhale, but was powerless to stop the noises. His eyes fell closed, and it was only the hands of the two men that kept him upright.

“How much longer until you have something for the pain?” Mr. Stark’s voice was low, but Peter heard.

“I think I’m getting close, but the dosage is high. I’m still concerned about side effects.” 

“You have to try.” 

“After this, I agree. Are you good to stay with him while I finish up the samples?”

“Yeah. Just hurry.” 

At that, Peter was lowered back to the bed. He cried out weakly again at the change in position, but was unable to do anything else. He just kept breathing, sickened by his protesting ribs, and listening to Banner walking quickly from the room. Mr. Stark’s hand was around his wrist again. It was comforting to not be alone, but Peter was losing sight of everything besides his pain. He wished he’d pass out while they waited for the medicine, but, as usual, luck was not on his side.


	7. Chapter 7

It was three more days before they finally got the dosage right on Peter’s medication, and Tony found them nearly as difficult as when Peter had been with his captors. The man hardly slept during that time, and when he did it was in short bursts, sitting up in the chair beside Peter’s bed. After the incident where he had stopped breathing, Peter more or less gave up. He stopped fighting the pain, allowing it to overtake him entirely. It had been hard to watch as he laid still on his back, screaming, moaning, or staring at the ceiling as silent tears trickled from his eyes into his hair. He hadn’t stopped trying to breathe again, but he was also mostly unresponsive. Bruce had been forced to return the needle and IV beneath his clavicle, feeding him essential nutrients when Peter refused to even attempt to eat.

If possible, Bruce had slept even less than Tony during the days spent developing a pain medication that would work for Peter. They had tested four different samples with unsatisfactory results. Two of them, Peter metabolized before they were able to put a dent in the pain, one of them eased his discomfort for an hour, and then had him violently vomiting for the next three, and one had caused him to become completely delirious, having full conversations with his Uncle Ben while trying repeatedly to climb out of bed. They had been forced to restrain him until he came out of that one. Finally though, on the third day, they’d had success.

Only fifteen minutes after being injected with the latest sample, Peter had calmed, letting out a sigh and actually meeting the gazes of the men above him. He’d had a goofy, lopsided smile on his face. The drug made him loopy as all hell, but when Bruce asked how he was feeling, Peter had slurred out that, ‘Water ice is goo...goo...good on fire. Bones fire cold now...so nice.’ Because he had previously complained about the fire in his bones, they’d taken that as a good sign. Twelve hours had passed since then. Peter had been given a second dosage after eight, and had yet to show any negative side effects. He was resting peacefully.

One hour after giving Peter his second dosage, Bruce, at Tony’s prodding, had retired to his room for the first time in days. He had apparently run into the team on his way there, because not long after, Clint and Natasha had shown up in the medbay. It had taken some convincing, but the pair had eventually talked Tony into heading up to his own rooms. He’d only agreed on the condition that someone sit with Peter at all times, and that he be alerted the second the kid showed signs of waking. The moment he reached his bedroom he’d ordered FRIDAY to wake him after three hours, not even glancing at the time before collapsing on top of the covers and instantly falling asleep.

It seemed like he had barely closed his eyes when the alarm was blaring. He fought down the desire to yell at FRIDAY to shut it off, instead sitting up and scrubbing his hands over his face as the annoying buzzing continued. He didn’t trust himself to stay awake until he had dragged his body upright, stumbling into the bathroom and smacking the bright lights to life. Only then did he let FRIDAY silence the alarm.

He groaned when he saw his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, his sculpted facial hair an overgrown mess, and t-shirt so wrinkled that he could no longer read the band name on the front. He also stank. He hadn’t showered in days, or brushed his teeth for that matter. He quickly saw to the latter, brushing for five whole minutes and finishing up with mouthwash. He then stripped off his crusty clothing and hopped into a boiling shower. His muscles protested as he scrubbed himself down, aching from the constant tension and too little sleep. He ignored them, making the shower quick and dressing in pajama pants and a clean t-shirt once he was dry. He tucked his feet into a soft pair of house slippers before heading to the elevator. Jeez, he was getting old.

“Fri, how’s Peter?” he asked as he walked, clearing his throat when he realized how gravely it sounded.

“Mr. Parker is still asleep. His vitals are stable, and Ms. Romanoff is with him,” came the AI’s quick reply.

“Does he seem uncomfortable?”

“He appears peaceful, Sir.” 

He let out a small breath of relief. He had planned to go straight to the medbay, but if Peter was resting then there was really no reason he should continue to ignore the grumbling in his stomach. He couldn’t actually remember the last time he’d had a decent meal. He recalled mechanically munching down a bag of pretzels at one point, but honestly didn’t know how long ago that had been. He took the elevator to the compound’s common area where there was a large living room and an adjoining kitchen. He was surprised when he walked into the kitchen and found almost the entire team gathered around the island in the center. Rhodey, Steve, Bucky, Sam, Clint, and Thor were all seated on stools, plates and coffee mugs in front of them. They all turned to stare at him as he entered the room. 

“Don’t mind me. I guess it’s breakfast?” He finally thought to look at his watch. Yep, eight thirty in the morning. “What are you all doing up?” He knew Steve was an early riser, but he didn’t usually expect to see any of the others until after nine at least. Bucky didn’t even live at the compound. Tony occasionally tolerated his presence, but it never went beyond that.

“I got them,” Clint admitted. “When you left the medbay.” 

“That was hours ago.”

“We were waiting for you to get up,” Steve said. “We weren’t expecting you to sleep very long, and you didn’t. We started breakfast when we heard the shower.” He gestured to the pot of coffee and skillet of scrambled eggs on the counter. Tony crossed the kitchen and filled a plate and mug before taking the empty seat beside Sam. He knew what was coming, but began forking eggs into his mouth while he waited for them to start.

“Tony,” Rhodey was the one to break the following awkward silence. “Spider Man has been hanging around the compound on and off for months.” 

“Since Germany,” Sam supplied.

“Why? No one is trying to judge you, but I can’t make sense of why you’ve been letting a fifteen-year-old near the Avengers.”

“Not to mention Germany,” Steve said. “I knew he was a rookie, but I figured he was at least in college. I never would have beat up on him that way had I known.” 

“Do you really want to talk about Germany right now?” Tony said through a mouthful, glaring at Bucky.

“That’s not the point,” Clint said. “We’re trying to understand.”

“You guys don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”

“Then explain it to us,” Rhodey said. 

Tony hesitated, taking a long gulp of his coffee before meeting their gazes. “He was Spider Man before I met him. I tracked him down before Germany, hoping he’d help get the situation under control. When I found out who he was I should have backed down, I know that now, but he comes from a rinky dink apartment in Queens. I knew that if I was able to track him down, someone else eventually would too. Someone like Shield, or even Hydra. Germany was my window. I’m not going to say it wasn’t selfish, because it was. It was irresponsible to bring him with me, but I knew he wasn’t in any real danger against you guys, and it was a good excuse to get him some proper upgrades and open the door to a relationship. He was running around in a sweatshirt and goggles before I got to him. Once I knew how young he was, I didn’t feel right leaving that alone.”

“So you thought inviting him to the compound was a good idea?”

Tony glared at Sam. “No. I thought putting Spider Man on the back burner and concentrating on high school was a good idea. After Germany I thought it would be best for me to step back. I asked him to stick to Shakespeare and algebra, but he was adamant that Queens needed Spider Man,” he rolled his eyes. “I couldn’t exactly stop him, but made him promise to only tackle petty theft and helping old ladies across the street. I even had Happy keep an eye on him, but the kid didn’t listen to a word I said. Remember when that SI plane went down a few months ago?”

“Yeah,” Clint said. “That bird guy almost got away with our tech, right? He wanted to sell it on the black market or something.”

“But he blew himself up,” Steve said. 

“Correction,” Tony said. “Peter Parker blew him up. He nearly got himself killed in the process, and even then he saved the guy’s life.”

“What?” Steve said. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I wanted to protect him. I wanted him to be a teenager as long as possible, but after that incident I also knew that he wasn’t going to stay away from trouble if left to his own devices. That’s why Spider Man has been hanging around the compound. I was able to watch him, monitor which missions he went on, and help him get trained up. I only told Bruce who he was because I wanted medbay prepared if he ever got hurt. Unfortunately, his enhancements have made that trickier than any of us would have hoped.”

“Jeez, Tony,” Rhodey said. “You could have told us. We could have helped you look out for him.”

“I thought about it,” he said. “I even mentioned it to Peter, but he was adamant about keeping his identity secret. I don’t think he wanted you guys knowing his age. He admires the hell out of all of you.”

“Well the secret’s out now,” Sam said. “I’m sorry we jumped on you. We should have known you had a good reason.” 

“I would have jumped on me too,” he sighed. “Even now I’m not sure I did the right thing.”

“You did what you thought was best,” Thor said.

“And I’m not sure I would have done anything different,” Steve added. 

Tony felt his shoulders sag, relaxing with the knowledge that the team didn’t blame him for Peter as harshly as he did himself. He scraped the last of his eggs into his mouth and stood. “I want to get back to him now. Thanks for breakfast.”

“Is there anything we can do to help?” Steve asked. “Bruce said Peter’s been having a hard time.”

“He’s been having a terrible time,” Tony said, wiping a hand over his face. “But I think we finally have the pain under control. I’m anxious to see how he’ll be when he wakes up.”

“Okay,” Rhodey said. “Just let us know when we can do something.” 

Tony gave him a thumbs up and walked to the elevator. He was glad they wanted to help, but he wasn’t going to accept their offer until Peter was lucid enough to discuss it. The fact that Natasha was with the kid now bothered him, but that had been necessary. He’d needed to sleep. It wouldn’t be happening again until he had Peter’s okay. Tony had blown his identity. Peter at least deserved the control of deciding who saw him now that he was no longer critical. The least they could do was give him that choice. 

___

It was another week and a half before Peter was weaned off the heavy painkillers and his x-rays came back clear. He was still pretty sore, and had some fairly bad bruising where the nails had been, but the breaks had healed entirely. During his recovery, Tony barely left Peter’s side. He had run out of excuses for the dozens of meetings he had missed, but he just couldn’t bring himself to care. His only priority had become making sure Peter was comfortable. Well, that and tracking down Bill Murphy, but so far he hadn’t had a lot of luck with the latter. Once he realized the Avengers were after him, the man had seemingly fallen off the face of the planet.

“Mr. Stark, I told you it’s okay to stop hovering,” Peter said, walking out of the bathroom that was attached to his bedroom in the medbay. The kid had already asked about moving back into his regular room several times, but Tony wanted to be extra certain he was recovered before that happened. Peter was currently dressed in sweatpants and an oversized t-shirt, a towel draped over his shoulders to catch the water droplets still dripping from his hair. 

“I’m not hovering,” he defended. “I let you shower alone, didn’t I?” 

“Gee, thanks,” Peter rolled his eyes and crossed the room to the bed. Tony pretended not to notice the slowness in Peter’s gait, or the way he winced with just about every step. He knew Peter’s joints, mainly his knees and elbows, were still causing him the most trouble, but he suspected he had begun to wear on Peter’s nerves in recent days. The kid didn’t like being doted upon. He was good at taking care of himself, even before the spider bite, and Tony knew he was embarrassed by all the extra attention.

“Have you thought anymore about what we discussed?” Tony asked, resisting the urge to reach out and help when Peter sat down on the bed and began scrubbing the towel through his hair. 

“Sure,” Peter said. “But I’m still nervous about it. I only ever wanted the team to know Spider Man, you know, the awesome guy. Not Peter.” 

“Peter is the awesome guy,” Tony said. “Spider Man is just the sticky sidekick.” 

“Yeah, right.” Peter tossed the damp towel at him. Tony caught it, not bothering to mention that he had meant the words. He wasn’t surprised that Peter didn’t believe them. The kid was always selling himself short.

“Seriously though, do you want to meet the team? It’s okay if you don’t, but they keep asking me.” 

“Can you make them forget about the videos?” 

Tony cringed. He hadn’t been able to be anything but honest when, about a week ago, Peter had asked who had seen the videos Murphy sent. The kid had turned bright red and stuttered for two minutes straight when he learned the entire team had seen him at his weakest. Tony understood why Peter was horrified, but he wished he could make him feel otherwise. Nothing that happened had been his fault, and as far as the Avengers were concerned, Peter had handled his time with Murphy admirably.

“I told you they don’t care about that,” he said. “They just want to make sure you’re okay. That their teammate is okay.” He wanted to emphasize that everyone considered him one of their own. 

“Yeah,” Peter mumbled, nervously picking at a loose thread from one of his blankets. “I guess meeting them would be fine. I mean, I sort of already know most of them, at least as Spider Man.” 

“That’s the spirit!” Tony clapped him on the shoulder, probably more gently than he needed to, but he was still getting used to being so close with the kid. He was also still a little worried about hurting him, but if Peter noticed the awkwardness he didn’t comment on it. “If you want, we can meet everyone in the common area for lunch. Pizza sound good? I know Bruce is still on you about getting your appetite back to normal, so that could be a step in the right direction.” 

“Sure, why not?” 

“Topping preference?” 

Peter shrugged. “I’m not picky, not unless you like anchovies.” 

Tony wrinkled his nose. “Does anyone?”

“Some people must, or they wouldn’t offer it, right?” 

“Not people, freaks.” He was pleased when he got Peter to laugh at the comment. “You good here if I go gather the team and place an order?” 

“Yes. I keep telling you I don’t need a babysitter.” 

“You’ve yet to convince me otherwise.” 

“Go!” 

Tony laughed on his way out of the room, amused by Peter’s indignant voice. It was a lazy day around the compound, and he found most of the Avengers sprawled out on sofas in the common area. He quickly told them about the lunch plans, emphasizing that they were not to overwhelm Peter with a bunch of questions. Everyone agreed to that, but then immediately began arguing about the pizza order. Not wanting to leave Peter alone longer than necessary, Tony tasked Clint with getting the order straight and having it delivered before hurrying back to the medbay. 

“I think you broke a new record,” Peter said, peering over the top of a comic book from where he laid propped up against a pile of pillows. “You left me alone for like ten whole minutes.” 

Tony glanced at his watch. “That’s sixteen minutes, thank you.” 

“I’ll get you a medal.” 

Tony grinned, glad that Peter was back to bantering. He’d been slowly getting back to himself for days, telling jokes and sending quips whenever an opportunity presented itself. Tony was usually annoyed by the fourth or fifth jab, but now he’d be content to let Peter harass him the entire day if it meant he was feeling better. Memories of the kid’s torture were all too fresh. Tony was barely able to close his eyes without hearing Peter screaming and begging, and even though they hadn’t discussed the incident where Peter asked to die and stopped breathing, Tony hardly ever stopped thinking about it. He kept telling himself that Peter hadn’t meant it, that he’d been delirious and probably didn’t even remember what he’d said, but Tony couldn’t unhear the words no matter how much he wanted to.

“Pizza’s been ordered. Do you feel up to walking to the elevator? It’s a ways down the hall, and I know being on your feet still sucks. I can get you a wheelchair if that’s easier.” 

Peter’s eyes widened at the suggestion, and he tossed the comic book down on the bed. “You want me to meet the Avengers in a wheelchair? Is being a skinny teenager not enough already?” 

“That’s a no on the wheels then?” Tony tried to lighten the situation with his tone, but Peter continued to look offended. He slid off the bed and managed not to wince when he found his feet, but it was hard to miss the creases that appeared on his forehead. Even so, Tony didn’t dare comment on it. Peter was clearly stressed about meeting his heroes, and pressing him on his current lack of strength wasn’t going to help that. Instead he ended up following the kid down the hall to the elevator. 

“Which floor?” Peter asked when the doors had slid closed behind them. Instead of answering, Tony reached out and pressed the button for him. 

“Just try to relax, Pete. They’re not expecting anything from you.” 

“Hope not,” he said quietly, head bowed. 

In less than a minute the doors were sliding open to reveal the compound’s common area, and Tony found himself placing a hand on Peter’s shoulder when he made no move to leave the elevator. They walked out together and found themselves in the living room, surrounded by the sofas that were still occupied by a number of the Avengers. Tony could feel Peter’s shoulder tighten beneath his fingers, and gave it a quick, reassuring squeeze before breaking the silence. 

“Rhodey, Sam, Thor, Natasha, Clint, and...Winter Soldier,” he gestured to each person as he said the names. “This is Peter, previously known to you as Spider Man.” They already knew that, of course, but he thought Peter deserved the courtesy of an in-person introduction. 

“Bucky’s fine,” the soldier spoke up first, shooting Tony a brief glare before smiling at Peter. “I’m glad to finally meet the guy beneath the spider suit. You’re not planning on webbing my arm to the ground again, are you?” 

It was a joke, but Peter turned bright red. “No...no! Of course not! I’m so sorry about that, Buck...I mean...Mr. Barnes, Sir. At the airport Mr. Stark told me…” 

“Hold up,” Sam interrupted before Peter could get any more carried away. “No one’s worried about that anymore. Bucky’s just being an idiot. We’re all cool here.” 

“Oh...okay, good. I was just worried that...I mean...I didn’t think...it’s just…”   
“Sorry I mentioned it,” Bucky said. “I really was just kidding. If anything, you impressed me in Germany.” 

“I impressed you?” 

“You impressed everyone,” Tony said, struggling to hold back his annoyance with Bucky. Of course the first thing out of the Avenger’s mouths was something that would make Peter feel guilty and even more uncomfortable than he already was. At least Sam had been quick to step in. He changed the subject. “Where are Steve and Bruce?” 

“Pizza arrived in the lobby. They lost the coin toss,” Clint said, causing Natasha to slap him on the shoulder. 

“There was no coin toss,” she said. “They were the only ones nice enough to volunteer to go get it.” 

“You realize that includes you?” Clint said, grinning at Peter and dodging a second blow from the woman beside him. 

“Children,” Tony muttered, then lowered his voice so only Peter would hear. “I told you there was nothing to worry about.” 

A moment later the elevator dinged, announcing the arrival of Steve, Bruce, and about twenty pizzas. Tony led Peter to one of the couches, and the food was spread out on the coffee table in front of them. The next two hours were then spent in a sea of chatter, cheese, grease, pepperoni, and (in Steve’s nasty case) anchovies. Peter was quieter than what was normal for him, but Tony knew it was probably from nerves. He understood better than anyone how overwhelming the team could be once they really got going, but was relieved that they remembered his request not to drown Peter in a bunch of questions. They politely asked him about school and his duties protecting Queens, but nothing about the fight at the airport or his recent capture came up again. 

Peter did manage a few shy questions, including finally finding out what Bucky’s arm and Steve’s shield were made from. The existence of vibranium fascinated the science-minded kid, and led to an excited conversation about Wakanda. Peter looked about ready to fall off the couch when he realized T’Challa was actually royalty. He only remembered him as a stranger dressed as a cat in Germany. The team assured him that one day, if he felt so inclined, he could probably meet T’Challa and even visit Wakanda. Tony wished he had a picture of the amazement on Peter’s face when he had heard that. 

Once the initial timidity wore off a little, Peter looked fully content to listen to the heroes talking and arguing, which made Tony reluctant to pull him away. It was rare that Peter genuinely smiled anymore, and he had been grinning more than not all through lunch. However, Tony knew it would be irresponsible to ignore the way the kid had sunk deep into the couch cushions and begun tapping his fingers against his thigh. It was obvious that the pain was getting bad again, and neither Tony nor Bruce had missed the fact that Peter only ate one slice of pizza when his usual appetite demanded an entire pie. It was time to get him back to bed for some quiet and rest. 

“Alright!” Tony suddenly declared, interrupting Thor’s current story about something or other on Asgard. He stood up and stretched his hands exaggeratedly over his head. “That’s about all I can take of your guys for one day. You coming with me, Peter?” He phrased it as a question, but they both knew this was Tony’s way of telling him it was time to go. 

“Oh...um, yeah. Yeah, okay!” He did his usual stuttering, sliding his grease-stained plate onto the coffee table and climbing to his feet. “It was so cool to meet all you guys. Like, really awesome. Thanks!” 

“You don’t need to thank us,” Steve said. “We all really enjoyed meeting you too.” 

“That’s right,” Clint agreed. “We’re always around, so if you ever want to say hi or just hang out feel free.” 

The other Avengers muttered similar sentiments, and after thanking them all again Peter followed Tony to the elevator. Tony waited until the doors slid closed before tucking an arm around the kid’s shoulders, and he wasn’t even very surprised when Peter leaned against him, allowing most of his body weight to fall against his side. 

“That wore you out, huh? Was it too much?” 

“No! Not at all. I loved meeting everyone.” 

“I thought you would. I just don’t want you overdoing it.” 

The doors slid open then at the medbay, and Tony kept his grip on Peter as they made their way slowly down the hall and into his room. The moment Peter was back in bed he went still, lying flat against the mattress and closing his eyes. Only his fingers moved, picking at the sheets in what was probably an effort to distract himself. Tony was getting ready to ask what he could do to help when Bruce strode quickly into the room. He was already holding a small medicine cup and a bottle of Gatorade. 

“Hey,” he tapped Peter on the shoulder, making him open his eyes. “You’re due for some meds.” 

“I thought we were going to try and skip today,” Peter said. “You know, work on getting me off of them.”   
“That was before you decided to walk around and socialize all afternoon. I’m glad you felt up to that, but it’s too much to expect you to be unmedicated right now. Bottoms up?” He helped Peter sit up against the pillows before handing him the cup. The kid made no further argument before downing the medicine and following it with half the bottle of Gatorade. 

“Thanks, Dr. Banner.” He handed the bottle and empty cup back to Bruce before sinking down on the bed once more. 

“You can thank me by eating a decent dinner later,” he said, shooting Peter a firm look. The conversation of getting Peter to eat more had become a pretty frequent one. Peter was getting better, but his appetite had been slow to pick up. 

“I’ll try.” 

“That’s all I ask. You two need me for anything else right now?” 

“I think we’re good,” Tony said when Peter didn’t answer. “Thanks, Bruce.” The doctor nodded and left them alone. Tony moved to hover at Peter’s side, noticing that he had already closed his eyes again. “You awake, Pete?” 

“Mm hmm.” 

“You want me to let you sleep? I know that must have been pretty tiring, and the drugs are going to have you slurring like a goofball in a minute anyway.” 

“That sounds good, Mr. Stark.” 

“Then you’ve got it. Fri, lights out.” The room went dark, and Tony resisted the urge to sit beside the bed. Instead he made himself walk to the door. Peter had begun demanding more independence lately, and Tony knew he had to respect that. “You know to just ask FRIDAY if you need anything, right?” 

“I know. And thank you for today. It was really great. Really really great.” 

“Glad you liked it. We can do it again soon. Night, kid.” 

“Night.” The last word was mumbled, as Peter was already falling asleep. Tony found himself finally smiling on his way out the door.


	8. Chapter 8

After meeting the Avengers, Peter remained tired the rest of the day. Between the stimulation, nervousness, and drugs, he could barely wake up to eat the dinner Dr. Banner brought him later in the evening. He was served three grilled cheese sandwiches, a large bowl of tomato soup, a pile of baby carrots with ranch dressing, and a big chocolate chip cookie. Peter had frowned at the portion, but once Banner reminded him of his earlier promise he did his best to clean his plate. He managed one and half sandwiches, a few bites of soup, and the whole cookie. The doctor wasn’t entirely satisfied with that, but accepted that Peter had made a good effort. He’d managed more than he usually did anyway. 

After dinner, Peter was barely able to get himself up to brush his teeth and change into pajamas before falling back into bed. He had taken the drugs long enough ago that he wasn’t completely muddled, but things were still slurred and out of focus. He appreciated the relief from the pain, but he was definitely ready to continue sleeping it off. It only took him a few minutes to pass out, but unfortunately that was also when the nightmares started. 

He’d had a few bad dreams since the Avengers had rescued him from Bill and the man’s cronies, but they had never been too severe. More than anything, they had brought about a sense of panic as the men’s faces popped into his vision, but they always faded quickly upon waking. This time was different. This time he was back in that warehouse, strapped to the table with the tight shimmering rope, and everything was vivid. Carl was standing near him with the nail gun, and Alex was right beside him, the jar of needles in hand. Just behind them was Bill, watching with a smile on his face. 

“Please,” Peter begged, squirming and feeling the restraints automatically tightening around his wrists and ankles. “Please, don’t do this again. I can’t do this again!” 

“We know you can’t.” He was surprised by the familiar voice, and Captain America was suddenly standing beside Bill, a look of disappointment on his face. 

“That’s right.” Natasha was next to the captain. “We always knew Spider Man was a bit of a joke, but we never expected this. You’re practically a baby.” 

“And you can’t even handle a little pain without having a complete breakdown,” Sam scoffed, joining the other Avengers. 

“That’s not true,” Peter said, trying to defend himself to his heroes. “You don’t understand. I held out as long as I could. It’s just…” 

“It was only two days.” Clint had arrived, crossing his arms and looking at Peter with disgust. 

“Unworthy indeed,” Thor joined them. 

“Real Avengers hang on as long as it takes,” Bucky said. 

“Exactly. They don’t beg their captors for mercy,” Rhodey added. 

“And they certainly don’t cry because their medicine isn’t working,” Banner taunted. 

They were there. They were all there. His heroes. The Avengers. Standing with Bill in a semicircle around the table, looking at him with expressions ranging from indifference to revulsion as Carl and Alex approached him with the implements of torture. Carl aligned the nail gun against his hip as Alex pulled the first needle from the jar. 

“Guys? Please, guys. Don’t let this happen to me.” He was staring at the faces of the Avengers, but none of them made a move to help him. Carl’s finger was on the trigger. He panicked. “I’m on your team!” 

At that they all erupted in laughter. The whole room. Even Bill, Carl, and Alex. It was devastating, and Peter jumped suddenly when he felt a hand press against his hair. He looked up to find Mr. Stark hovering over him, gently stroking the curls away from his face, and was overcome with a flood of relief. At least until his mentor spoke. 

“You’re not one of us, Peter,” the words were cool, measured. “You’re just some brat I’ve felt responsible for, but I can’t keep rescuing you. It’s exhausting. Have a nice life, kid.” 

“No!” Peter gasped, feeling the beginnings of tears welling in his eyes. The hand left his hair, and Mr. Stark backed away until he was out of sight. Gone. “Mr. Stark, come back! I’m sorry! Please!”  
That was the last thing he shouted before hearing the metallic noise of the nail gun’s trigger, and then he was screaming. The tearing, bone-crunching, burning pain was back full force. It was happening again. It was all happening again, except this time Tony Stark wasn’t looking for him. This time the Avengers didn’t have to watch him break down in a video, because they were here with front row seats. He’d thought he was an Avenger. He’d thought he was Spider Man. He’d been wrong. He’d been fooling himself. He was a teenager; a child. He screamed again as Carl inserted another nail, in his shoulder this time, and Alex began sliding a needle beneath the skin of his thigh…

“Peter! Damnit, Peter! Wake up already!” 

He gasped awake, thrashing and still screaming, to find a frantic Tony Stark hovering over him. “Calm down. You’re safe. It’s not real. That’s it.” 

Peter made a conscious effort to stop fighting. He fell still, snapping his lips together to make himself be quiet. He blinked rapidly, forcing the nightmare to fade away as his eyes adjusted to the light in the room. Mr. Stark was good about remembering to keep the lights on the dim side when Peter was involved, but waking up was always difficult if there was any brightness at all. It took him a few moments to realize he was no longer in his bed in the medbay, but on the tile floor beside it. Mr. Stark was kneeling next to him, both hands on Peter’s shoulders. 

“Wha…? Why am I on the floor?” 

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Mr. Stark’s voice was calm, but his expression betrayed how shaken he was. “FRIDAY alerted me that you were thrashing and screaming in your sleep, and by the time I got here you’d already taken a swan dive off the bed. It took me forever to wake you up, so that was either the mother of all nightmares, or I need to get you in for a brain scan to find out what happened.” 

“I don’t need a brain scan,” Peter said, trying to sound offended. The problem was it was hard to claim the high ground while lying on the floor, still shaking a little from the memory of the dream. He started to sit up, and Mr. Stark helped him, shifting one hand to grip his arm. He let out a small hiss when he was upright, feeling a stabbing pain in his left hip. For one brief, unthinking moment, he feared the dream had been real, but that didn’t make any sense. 

“What’s wrong?” Mr. Stark demanded immediately, a crease forming between his eyebrows. 

“It’s nothing.” 

“Peter,” he warned. 

“It’s just...my hip hurts.” He let out another hiss when he brought his hand to it. “Like, a lot.” 

“Okay. Do you think you can get back on the bed, or do I need to have Bruce check you out here? FRIDAY, call Bruce to the medbay.” 

“Calling Dr. Banner,” the AI chimed. 

“I can get up.” With Mr. Stark’s help, it only took him a few seconds to get back in bed, but the motion was breathtakingly painful. He laid on his back, sucking in deliberate breaths and fighting back the urge to throw up. Mr. Stark stood at his bedside, watching the door and shifting from foot to foot. He only stopped his nervous shuffling when Dr. Banner entered the room a few minutes later. 

Peter let out an internal groan when he saw the doctor. He hadn’t checked a clock, but from the looks of things he had once again pulled the man out of bed. Ever since being rescued, Peter had become all too familiar with seeing Banner as he was now; hair a tousled mess, wrinkled t-shirt, pajama pants, lopsided glasses, and dark bags under his eyes. The man didn’t look the slightest bit upset about being awakened, but Peter still felt like the world’s biggest inconvenience. 

“What happened?” 

“Peter had a nightmare and decided that throwing himself off the bed was a good idea. I guess he forgot that tile and momentum aren’t a great mix.” 

“I was asleep,” Peter grumbled, feeling his face heat up in embarrassment. “And I’m fine. Please go back to bed.” 

“Oh, now you’re fine,” Mr. Stark said. “I guess your hip stopped hurting in the last three minutes. That’s fantastic! But I must be missing something, because I’m confused as to why you’re white as a sheet and breathing unevenly. Can you shed some light on that for me?” 

“Which hip?” Dr. Banner asked, sparing Peter from having to respond to the mockery. 

“I hate this.” He covered his face with his hands, the words from the dream replaying in his head. He had clearly become a burden. Real Avengers dealt with a little pain and moved on. They didn’t need to repeatedly disturb those around them. 

“The left, I think,” Mr. Stark answered for him.

“Is that right, Peter? May I check?” Doctor Banner was beside him, hands hovering above his left hip.  
“I probably just bruised it. It’ll be fine by morning.” 

“Humor us, kid,” Mr. Stark grumbled. 

“Fine.” He gave in, but couldn’t bring himself to uncover his face. He felt a pair of hands raise the bottom of his shirt and slide the elastic of his waistband down to the tops of his thighs. He heard the doctor let out a short breath. 

“Yeah, this is already swelling up pretty good. Given how recently you healed, I would not be the least bit surprised if this is fractured. Let’s go ahead and take an x-ray.” 

“Can you not?” 

Peter didn’t look, but he knew Dr. Banner’s brow was furrowing by the tone of his voice. “Is there a reason why I shouldn’t?” 

“I just don’t see the point,” Peter said. “I already healed on my own once, so even if it’s fractured I’ll just do the same thing again. There’s no reason to waste your time on an x-ray. I’m sorry I got you out of bed in the first place.” 

Peter hoped that would be the end of it, though he doubted either of the men would let him off the hook that easily. He couldn’t decide if it was more horrifying that he’d woken up two Avengers because of a bad dream, or that he had probably broken (okay, fractured) his hip by falling out of bed. He was a superpowered teenager, not an eighty-year old man. The whole situation was absurd. 

“I wouldn’t consider it a waste of time,” Banner said. “But if you really don’t want an x-ray I suppose it wouldn’t be the end of the world to put that off. I can get you an ice pack and some more pain meds for now, but if it’s not better in a day or two I’m going to have to take a closer look.” 

“Fine,” Peter mumbled from behind his hands. “Please just go back to sleep now. It doesn’t even hurt much. I’ll be fine without ice and meds tonight.” 

There was a pause, and Peter could almost feel Mr. Stark and Dr. Banner exchanging a look. The former was the one to break the silence. “What’s going on, Pete?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“Well for starters you’ve been hiding behind your hands for the past few minutes. What’s happening in that spidery brain?” 

“I’m not hiding!” He immediately dropped his hands.  
“Still doesn’t answer the question,” Mr. Stark pressed, his gaze unwavering. 

“It’s just...I just don’t want to bother anybody. I’m better now. You guys already saved me and then spent ages helping me when...I mean...after I was back and... I just don’t want to take advantage.” 

“Take advantage?” Mr. Stark said loudly. “You can’t be serious!”

“Yeah, I am. None of the Avengers would ever have…” 

“Peter,” Banner interrupted, his voice much calmer than Mr. Stark’s. “You can’t possibly be feeling guilty about needing a little help after what you’ve been through. First of all, you’re a heck of a lot younger than the other Avengers. If you needed more recovery than the rest of the team, that would be understandable given your age, but that’s not even what happened. We’ve all had experiences that have taken us out of the field for a while. It comes with the territory, and I think you’ve handled everything you’ve been through at least as well as anyone else on the team would have.” 

“Without a doubt,” Mr. Stark said, sitting at the foot of the bed and giving Peter’s leg a squeeze. “What happened to you was brutal, but you’ve been an absolute champ. The whole team thinks so.” 

“There’s no way,” he said it so quietly it was almost a whisper, but they heard. 

“There is a way,” Mr. Stark said. “I’m being completely honest with you. You went through hell for two whole days, and then went through it some more because of your freaky metabolism. I can’t even imagine experiencing what you’ve been through without proper pain medication, but you dealt with it for days.” 

“Not to mention that you held out through some pretty nasty side effects while I tried to get your dosage right,” Banner added.

“I don’t know where this guilt is coming from,” Mr. Stark said. “But I need you to knock it off. I also need you to stop talking about the Avengers like you’re not one of us. Once you’re on the team, it’s hard to get kicked. Just ask Cap. If he can turn us against each other, knock the snot out of me, and still retain his spot, you definitely don’t have anything to worry about. You got that?” 

Looking at his mentor’s grin, Peter couldn’t help but return a small smile. “Okay.” 

“You better mean that, because I sure as heck meant what I said. Now how about that ice pack and round of meds? Nah!” He exclaimed the last part, holding up a hand for silence when Peter began to open his mouth. “Wasn’t actually a question.”  
“I’m on it,” Banner said, walking from the room. 

“That’s not fair,” Peter complained. 

“Don’t care. I’m not going to let you guilt yourself into hurting when you don’t have to.” 

“But I shouldn’t have gotten caught in the first place. Or I should have gotten away. Or I should have…” 

“Peter,” Mr. Stark cut him off, his expression saddening. He suddenly looked ten years older. “I’m the one that shouldn’t have let that happen to you. Period.” 

“But…” 

“No buts. I was supposed to keep you safe, and I didn’t. That’s all there is to it.” 

Peter wanted to tell him that there was a lot more to it. About how he was the first person to believe in him as Spider Man. About how he had given him a purpose when he was just a floundering kid, still reeling from the loss of his uncle. The only reason he had gotten through his time with Murphy with any semblance of sanity was because he’d known Mr. Stark was coming. He’d never doubted that someone was searching for him. It had made his darkest moments bearable. However, he could tell by the expression on the man’s face that he wasn’t going to listen to a word of any of that. At least not now. Peter suddenly realized that he wasn’t the only one struggling with the weight of what had happened. 

“You know,” Mr. Stark said when Peter remained silent. He didn’t move from his spot on the bed, but his eyes were no longer on Peter. They were planted, instead, on the wall across the room, and he still looked so so sad. “I’ve messed up a lot in my time, a lot, but seeing you dragged into my problem...watching you get hurt because of it...that was one of my low points.” 

“Mr. Stark…” 

“No. I know what you’re going to say, but it is my fault. I pissed Bill Murphy off years ago. He used to own a pretty large trading company. SI did business with him here and there, but when I found out he was interested in purchasing Stark weapons I shut him down. I put him out of business, and out of a shitload of money in the process, and I didn’t really give it a second thought. I knew he might come after me at some point, but I never thought...I should have realized that someone could…” He paused, swallowing hard. “I shouldn’t have let you be in that position. I’m so sorry, Peter.” 

“I don’t blame you.” 

Mr. Stark forced a laugh, looking at him again. Peter was shocked to see that his eyes had the glassy sheen of unshed tears. “I know that. I’m pretty sure you’d find a way to not blame me if I punched you in the face.” 

“Depends. Were you aiming for someone else? Did I pick the wrong insult and deserve it? Was there a spider on my cheek? Because, irony aside, I really don’t like spiders very much.” 

“Look at you making jokes while I’m trying to be serious. This just proves that you’ve been spending too much time around me.” He sounded genuinely amused, blinking away all traces of potential tears. 

“I like spending time with you,” Peter said. 

“Good. Then don’t go anywhere.” 

Peter was confused. “Where would I go?” 

“Do you remember when you wanted, no, tried, to check out before your time?” 

“Like at a hotel?” 

Mr. Stark let out a huff. “No, not like at a hotel. Are you for real? No, I mean like giving up on being around. As in telling me you want to die and then refusing to breathe until I’m about to have a heart attack.” 

Peter felt his eyes widen, and was about to demand to know what on earth the man was talking about when Dr. Banner returned. Mr. Stark instantly jumped to his feet, muttered something about a phone call, and hurried from the room. Peter let him go, not wanting the doctor to know what they’d been discussing. He took the medicine offered to him, gingerly pressed the offered ice pack to his throbbing hip, and allowed himself to begin falling into the usual drug-induced stupor. He knew Dr. Banner said something before shutting off the lights and leaving him alone, but Peter didn’t know what it was. He was too bothered by his mentor’s last words. He would have kept dwelling on them if not for the meds muddling his thoughts and pulling him under. 

___

Tony knew he had screwed up the moment the words left his mouth. He’d brought up the incident, the one he had been determined not to talk about, and, as he’d known was possible, Peter didn’t seem to remember it at all. The look of shock on his face said that clearly enough. The kid had no idea he’d been bad off enough to want to give up on his life, at least not until Tony had stupidly reminded him. Why had he done that? What had he been thinking? He’d allowed his own guilt and fears to bring something to Peter’s attention that should have remained buried. And worse, he’d abandoned him right afterwards. He just hoped that the meds Bruce gave him would make him forget some of what had been said. That would be the best possible scenario at this point. 

He wasn’t going to attempt to lie, even to himself, about how rattled Peter’s nightmare had left him. He hadn’t told Peter the extent of how violently he’d struggled, or how long it had taken to get him to wake up. Tony knew he’d have some nasty bruises standing out against his ribs come morning. It shouldn’t have surprised him that, even while sleeping, Spider Man could pack a punch. Not that he cared about the bruises. It was Peter’s mental state that worried him. He’d planned to try and get him to talk about the dream, but instead they’d both fallen down the guilt rabbit hole. They’d then continued down it until Tony had said something he couldn’t take back. Thank goddess for Bruce’s good timing. The doctor had spared him a painful conversation, or at the very least given him an excuse to put it off. 

He must have walked to his lab at some point, because before he knew how he’d gotten there, he was tinkering with one of the repulsors he’d been working on upgrading. He knew he should get some sleep; it was after three in the morning, and he hadn’t gone to bed in the first place until around two. Instead, he found himself brewing a pot of coffee and continuing his work once he had a large mug in his hand. Every half hour or so he had FRIDAY check on Peter, but thanks to Bruce the kid was resting peacefully each time. He didn’t even realize morning had arrived until he was startled by a gentle knock. He swung around to find Steve standing in the doorway. 

“What’s up, Cap?” He laid down his screwdriver, flexing his fingers and realizing for the first time how cramped they felt. 

“I was grabbing breakfast after my jog when I ran into Bruce in the kitchen. He told me about what happened last night. He also mentioned that he suspected you never made it back to bed.” 

“Well, we don’t all need ten hours of beauty rest to keep our chiseled good looks in tact.”

Used to Tony’s antics, Steve only looked a little annoyed. “Bruce also told me that he left you alone with Peter, and when he came back you shot out of the room like it was on fire. He’s concerned about you. What happened?” 

“Nothing happened.” He stood up, downing the rest of his coffee and stretching. His back gave a satisfying pop. 

“Of course not.” 

“Is that a tone?” Tony raised his eyebrows, but Steve looked more sad than annoyed. 

“I can’t even find it in myself to be surprised anymore when you evade simple questions. I just thought you should know that your friends are concerned about you. We’d all be here for you if you’d let us. I know you think what happened to Peter is your fault, but…” 

“It is my fault,” he flatly cut him off. “It is, and you all know it.” 

“You were doing your best to keep him safe.” 

“Then I did a shitty job of it, didn’t I?” 

He left the lab before Steve could say another word, brushing past him on his way through the doorway. He knew the captain meant well, but he simply didn’t have it in him to talk about it at the moment. He just wanted to be left alone. He was in the elevator, halfway to the safety of his bedroom, when his phone began buzzing in his pocket. A glance at the screen told him the number was unlisted, and he almost didn’t answer it, but at the last minute changed his mind. 

“Tony Stark.” 

“Hello, Tony, long time no chat.” The voice on the other end was calm, light even, but Tony felt his heart speed up and his free hand tighten into a fist. 

“I’m going to kill you.” After the words, he briefly muted his end and gave FRIDAY the order to trace the call. 

“Didn’t you try that once already?” Murphy asked. 

“Not my fault you left your buddies for dead and ran for it.” Tony had to fight to keep his words even. If he was going to find Murphy, he needed to play this right. He had to keep him on the phone long enough for FRIDAY to get him a location. 

“Ah, yes. Poor Carl and Alex.” 

“You sound really broken up about it,” Tony mocked. 

“Do I?” 

“No. Not even a little. And as I understand it, they didn’t die fast.” 

“Hmm, neither did Peter, if I recall.” 

“He didn’t die at all, you fucker!” He spat the words, the mention of Peter causing him to lose his determined cool. 

“No, we didn’t quite get to that point, did we? But I can’t imagine he’s doing very well. I’ll admit I was impressed by his strength, but that cocktail Alex invented is a nasty thing. He’s probably still not recovered, is he?” 

“He’s doing amazing! Not that you deserve to know that.” Tony stared at his watch while he spoke. FRIDAY had activated a small countdown in the corner that showed how soon they’d have a location. ...29...28...27…

“Is that so?” 

“Yes. But that’s not why you called me. What do you want?”

...24...23...22... 

“You’re lying to me, Stark.” 

“Maybe I am, maybe I’m not. What’s it to you?” 

...19...18...17…

“It’s of no great importance, really. I just thought you should know that I’m aware of it. Peter might have regained some of his strength, but he’s definitely not over what happened. Physically or, I’m assuming, mentally. What about you? Having pleasant dreams?” 

“I’m sleeping just fine, thanks.” Tony heard the words leaving his mouth, but he couldn't really focus on what he was saying. They were so close to catching this bastard. He felt his hands sweating.

11...10...9…

“You really should have just given me the weapons I wanted. It could have spared us all a lot of pain and effort.” 

Tony snorted. “Right. Because that ended so well for you.” 

4…

“Who says it’s over?” 

3…

“What?” 

2…

“Let’s see if either of you can hold out a second time, shall we?” 

The timer hit 1, and the watch vibrated, zeroing in on Murphy’s coordinates. Tony felt the color leave his face. Murphy was inside the compound at this very moment! Before Tony could utter a word, the line went dead, and in the same instant the elevator jerked to a stop. The compound’s lights went out, throwing him into complete darkness.

“FRIDAY!” Tony shouted, feeling for the cool metal doors and trying not to panic. No response. He shouted for his AI a few more times with the same result. Nothing. Even his watch and phone had gone blank. Murphy had infiltrated the compound and somehow managed to short out all the SI technology inside. Tony didn’t know how the hell the man had managed any of it. He just knew he needed to get to Peter. That was his sole priority, and yet he was locked inside the metal prison of his own elevator with no obvious means of escape. Murphy could be with Peter at this very moment, and Tony was powerless to help. He had promised it would never happen again, and yet history seemed to be repeating itself. There were no words for the panic Tony felt rising in his chest at that thought.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been taking me a little longer to update lately. I haven't been as quick as I'd like, but I promise there's still more to come! I'm so grateful to everyone who's taking the time to read this! You're what's keeping me writing, and I'm having a great time sharing it with all of you!


	9. Chapter 9

Peter was aware when he was being moved, but the drugs in his system made it hard to wake up. He fought the grogginess as hard as he could, but the movement had stopped, leaving him still for at least several minutes, before he had any success. He forced his heavy eyelids open and stared around a small, brightly-lit room that definitely wasn’t the medbay. He heard the words before he found their owner, praying that the voice was just another nightmare. 

“Let’s see if either of you can hold out a second time, shall we?” 

At the words, the room went completely black, and though Peter could see better than most in the dark, the sudden change and lingering drugs left him squinting toward where he had last seen Bill Murphy talking into a phone. It was only a couple seconds before a flashlight lit up the room in a dim glow, shining from the man’s hand. He was looking at Peter. 

“So glad you’ve decided to awaken.” He spoke casually, as if Peter was used to waking up in an unknown room, mere feet from a psycho who had captured and tortured him for days. “Don’t worry about the lights, this is a useful little device, but it’s only good for a few minutes. Power will be back up soon.” He raised his free hand to show off a small, spherical object that was covered in a number of glowing green buttons before sliding it into his pocket. 

“How…Where…?” Peter tried to speak, tried to make sense of the situation, but his tongue felt like lead in his mouth. He needed to get up. He needed to fight, or even run, but quickly realized he couldn’t move his arms or legs past a slight squirming. He felt like screaming when he finally looked down at himself, realizing he was lying on a small cot, tied down by the same purple, shimmering ropes from his nightmares. He brought his wide-eyed gaze back to Bill, only to see the man watching him patiently as he came to terms with what was happening. 

“You’re slow, Peter. What the hell does Stark have you on?” 

“I don’...” Peter slurred, continuing to blink. “This isn’t real.” 

“It’s real,” Bill said, moving to sit beside him on the cot. “But I think you know that.” 

“No,” he shook his head, trying hard to dislodge the fog there. None of this was making sense. Where the hell was he? He tried to ask as much, but it came out a garbled mess. Bill seemed to understand the gist of the question anyway. 

“You haven’t gone far. You’re in Tony Stark’s personal panic room.” He was still in the compound? A massive wave of shock and relief rushed over him, but it didn’t last long before Bill was talking again. “Not that it matters. Your Avenger buddies can be right on the other side of the door, but it won’t make a difference. Stark himself designed this room to be indestructible, and even though I’m not naive enough to believe they won’t get through eventually, I’m counting on at least a few uninterrupted hours together. That will be more than enough time.” 

As Peter forced himself to take several deep breaths, still attempting to wake up properly, he finally got a good look at Bill. Despite the man’s confident attitude, he looked haggard, as if he hadn’t rested properly in a number of weeks. His suit jacket and tie were missing, even though he was still wearing a pair of wrinkled dress pants and a button down that looked as though it had seen better days. His hair was unbrushed, and he had deep bags beneath his eyes. There was even a large crack running across the right lens of his glasses. He noticed Peter staring at him intently. 

“I’m not quite my usual self these days, am I?” he asked, sounding almost somber at the prospect. “For that, you can thank your friends. They’ve been hunting me relentlessly for some time now.” 

“So...so you thought it was…” Peter was still struggling to form words, but Bill was tolerant enough to wait as he spit out the sentence piece by piece. “A goo...good idea to...to come to their front door?” 

Bill shrugged and forced a smile. “It became obvious to me that I couldn’t outrun the Avengers forever, and after what they did to Alex and Carl, I decided that taking my death into my own hands was preferable.” 

Peter was confused. He didn’t know if the drugs were still muddling his understanding, or if Bill simply wasn’t making any sense. He hadn’t heard anything about Alex and Carl since his rescue, and he didn’t understand why Bill was talking about dying. “You...you wa...want to die?” 

“I don’t want to die,” he said. “But I’ve realized it’s inevitable, and after finding my comrades lying in pools of their own blood, each filled with more nails than I wanted to try counting, I decided I did not wish to go in a similar manner.” He must have seen Peter’s eyes widen at the news, because he smirked. “What? Your friends didn’t tell you how they killed my men?” 

“I...I didn’t know they were dead at...at all.” The surprise of the news, as well as the fact that everything was still incredibly blurry, must have been what made Peter answer honestly. 

“Interesting that they chose not to share that information with you. Perhaps they didn’t want you to know that earth’s heroes can be just as merciless as those they battle.” 

Peter was about to say more, but at that moment power returned to the compound, filling the small panic room with painfully bright light. He squeezed his eyes shut against the sudden onslaught, but managed to squint through his lashes when he felt Bill rise from his seat on the cot. As his eyes continued to adjust, Peter watched the man cross the room to a series of monitors lining one wall. Peter hadn’t been able to see them in the darkness, but now each screen was awake and showing off black and white images of nearly every room in the compound. 

“Are you there enough to see this?” Bill asked, looking over his shoulder at Peter. “Your friends are in a scramble, especially Stark. I don’t expect it to take them very long to find you.” 

“Then what’s the point of this?” Peter had to ask. 

“Weren’t you listening before? No one is getting in here for at least a few hours. I might not have been able to keep the power down for long, but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t able to corrupt Stark’s codes for this particular room.”

“But why?” He was gradually coming out of the drugs. Things were still slow, but he could tell his last dosage was wearing off. Words were coming easier, and the pain in his hip, along with his usual lingering aches, was returning. “You sound like you aren’t...like you aren’t planning on coming out of this alive. If...if you can’...can’t get the weapons you want, then what’s the...the point?” 

“Peter, I thought you were supposed to be smart.” Bill nearly sounded disappointed in him. “My plan didn’t work out the way I wanted, and because of that I am going to die, but what makes you think I’m not going to make Tony Stark suffer before that happens?” Peter felt his blood run cold, finally beginning to understand Bill’s intentions, but the man was staring at the screens again before he could come up with a response. “Good. It looks like they’re on their way. That means we can get started.” 

Bill crossed the room to a black duffel bag sitting near the foot of the cot. He slowly unzipped it, and had begun rummaging inside when a sudden loud bang rang from the reinforced metal door. 

“Murphy!” Mr. Stark’s furious voice shouted from the other side. “You better open this door right this second if you plan on breathing another day!” 

Bill chuckled, rising from the bag with a large serrated knife and a jar of purple liquid that was all too familiar. “And here I thought you’d already promised to kill me.” He wasn’t speaking that loudly, but sound must have traveled decently enough through the door. 

“That can be renegotiated,” Mr. Stark said, obviously straining to level his voice. “But not if Peter isn’t out of there in the next three seconds.” 

“I’m afraid I don’t believe you,” Bill said, watching the screens as he approached the side of the cot. Peter followed his gaze, heart hammering, to see an image of Mr. Stark on one of the monitors. He was standing right outside the door, the other Avengers gathered around him in a huddle. 

Mr. Stark’s next words were whispered, and Peter realized he was only able to make them out because of his advanced hearing. “FRIDAY, continue running trials until you’re through the encryptions.” He then raised his voice again to a volume Bill would hear. “You really don’t have a lot of options here. You either follow my every demand and hope that puts me in a good enough mood to let you live, or I kill you the moment I’m through this door.”

“I think we’re probably beyond lying to one another, Tony,” Bill said. He set the jar of purple liquid down on the small table beside the cot, and then continued speaking as he used the knife to begin casually cutting away the fabric of Peter’s t-shirt. “We both know I’m not leaving this room alive.” 

Peter stared at Mr. Stark’s image on the screen as Bill pulled away the ruined pieces of his shirt, throwing them on the ground and leaving him bare-chested. He willed his mentor to grin, to burst through the door and end this before it could begin, but he and the other Avengers made no move beyond sharing worried glances. “So you’re suicidal now?” Mr. Stark asked. 

“Not at all,” Bill said. “If there was any way for me to walk away from this, I would. If you had just given me the weapons I wanted in the first place, you never would have had to hear from me again. Instead, you chose to track me down, murder my companions, and then continue hunting me until I was forced to do something drastic. So no, this isn’t suicide so much as a last resort.”

“You could have killed yourself anywhere,” Mr. Stark said. It sounded like he was trying to keep his voice easygoing, but he was beginning to fail. There was a slight strain to it that couldn’t be hidden. “Why come here, to my home? To the Avenger’s home? You must still want something. We can talk about calling off the manhunt if that’s what you’re after.” 

Bill laughed again, but there was no humor in it. Peter glanced at his face, and it was stony, his eyes completely dead of emotion. His fingers were flexing around the knife. “You’ve begun negotiating, so I assume you’ve figured out where this is going.” 

“We’ll be in there in seconds,” Mr. Stark said. “You can live. Just don’t touch Peter.” 

“You’re lying!” Bill shouted, and without warning plunged the knife into Peter’s chest, just at the base of his sternum. The blade only sank in about an inch, but it still hurt, especially when Bill began dragging the jagged metal down his torso, stopping only when he reached his belly button. Peter let out a long scream when he was first stabbed, as much from surprise as pain, and then shrieked a second time when the blade was yanked harshly from his flesh. He wrenched against his bounds, but, just as in his memories and nightmares, only felt them tightening around his limbs as a result. 

“Peter!” Mr. Stark was screaming his name, but he wasn’t the only one. Peter could also hear the worried voices of the other Avengers, followed by a barrage of banging against the door. He gasped in several ragged breaths before dragging his gaze back to the monitor. He could feel the hot blood running down his stomach and sides. He didn’t need to see it as well. He tried to comfort himself with the image of Captain America and Thor beginning to slam themselves against the door. 

“You did this!” Bill yelled over the continued sound of muscle ramming against metal, his collected demeanor finally collapsing. “I’m not going to live through this, but neither is Peter. The only difference is that my death is going to be fast.” 

“Don’t do this!” Mr. Stark was shouting, and Peter watched the Iron Man armor forming around his mentor’s body as he spoke. He joined the other two Avengers in slamming against the door. “You can come out of this. No one has to die!” 

“No one had to die before,” Bill said. “But now it’s too late for that!” 

Peter found himself screaming again, eyes snapping back to where Bill was leaning over him, dragging the knife down his right palm. As soon as he was finished with the long, weeping gash, he repeated the action on the left hand. Peter shrieked the whole time. He had once been resilient in the face of pain. He had suffered silently through dozens of bruises and stab wounds during his patrols, but his endurance was frayed. He still ached from the first time Bill had tortured him, and he wasn’t ready to deal with it again. Especially now that he was no longer a means to an end, but instead being promised a painful death.

“Stop!” he managed to shout the word when Bill paused just long enough to grasp the waistband of his pajama pants. He slid them down to Peter’s ankles, leaving his boxers in place, but his legs fully exposed. In the next moment Peter was screaming again as Bill began carving into the area just above his knees, drawing a long, horizontal line across first one leg, and then the other. 

“Murphy, stop!” Mr. Stark was still shouting, and by the sound of things the attack on the door hadn’t slowed. “Please, just stop! We can work this out! You can have your weapons! Stop, damnit, just stop!” 

Bill didn’t stop. Peter was becoming unfocused from the pain, but he couldn’t pull his eyes from the man above him. At this point Bill’s hands were dripping with blood, and he had managed to smear a long red streak across his cheek. There were even flecks of blood on his glasses, but the man paid it no mind. He seemed almost mechanical in his actions, working the knife with slow, but steady movements and completely ignoring the screams and shouts around him. 

“Calm down,” he finally spoke, pausing briefly when Peter began jerking wildly against the restraints in panic. “You know that won’t do any good. Just calm down.” 

“Please!” he choked, gulping in frantic lungfuls of air. “Please, don’t do this!” 

“This part’s almost done,” he promised before bringing the knife to Peter’s shoulder and sending him into another wordless bout of screams. 

Despite his promise, Bill continued working the knife across Peter’s flesh for another several minutes. All the cuts were deep enough to hurt and cause a slow stream of blood, but none so deep that Peter would bleed out too quickly. By the time Bill allowed the knife to clatter noisily to the ground, Peter was a mass of throbbing, open wounds. Still, he made himself muffle his screams down to panting moans and focus on what the man was doing next. The Avengers were still shouting through the door when Bill reached for the jar of purple liquid. Peter felt his panic double at the sight of the stuff, but it wasn’t until Bill began unscrewing the lid that Peter truly lost it.

“No! No! Not that! Please, not that! Please, Bill! No! No!” Peter felt tears forming in his eyes. He was having trouble breathing. He was pulling against the restraints, causing them to tighten until the little remaining feeling in his hands and feet disappeared. None of it mattered, though. All he could see was the jar hovering above him. 

“I wish I could say this was going to be quick,” Bill said, speaking loudly so that those on the other side of the door would hear. “But Peter’s going to have to deal with this until he bleeds out. By the looks of things, that will take at least an hour. Have fun listening to the dying screams of the kid you killed, Tony.” 

Peter could hear Mr. Stark yelling, and on some level he knew that he, too, was still begging, but none of it did any good. Bill tilted the jar, allowing large splashes of the agonizing liquid to pour across Peter’s flesh. The searing hot, itching, sting was quickly filling each of his cuts as Bill moved the stream to cover every inch of Peter’s skin below the neck. The pain it brought was familiar, but that made it no easier to bear. Everything was fire. A miserable, burning pain that ate through his flesh and scorched deep into his bones. The screams coming from his mouth were inhuman; loud enough to hurt his own ears and tear painfully at the walls of his throat.

Bill continued pouring until the jar was empty, and then dropped it to the ground beside the knife. The action was followed by the unmistakable sound of shattering glass, but Bill ignored it completely. Peter was surprised he was still aware enough to keep watching his tormentor. There had been no pause in the pain or screams, but he still managed to follow Bill with his eyes as the man crossed the room. He reached again into the black duffel, producing a small plastic bag that contained a single, white pill. He then eased himself carefully down to the floor, leaning against the wall, and dumped the pill into his hand. He stared at it for only a second before glancing up at Peter, giving him a small, silent salute, and pressing the capsule between his lips.

Peter didn’t know what he had been expecting, but it certainly wasn’t for Bill to immediately begin seizing and foaming at the mouth. The display was violent, but lasted under a minute. By the end of it Bill had fallen still, eyes wide but unseeing. Even as overcome as he was in the throes of his own agony, Peter had no doubt that the man was dead. Under other circumstances he might have been relieved, but as it was all Peter could do was close his eyes and scream, begging God, the universe, and anything else that might hear him for even a modicum of relief that he knew, deep down, wasn’t coming. 

___

Tony was on the verge of a panic attack. As soon as power had returned to the compound, he had FRIDAY locate Peter and Murphy before tracking down the rest of his confused teammates. It hadn’t taken them long to gather outside the door of the panic room, and Tony felt like throwing up when he realized his passcodes for the room had been overridden. He’d immediately sent FRIDAY to work on breaking through the encryptions before beginning his conversation with Murphy, but his AI informed him that Bill’s hacking was professional. It would take time to open the door. 

Tony had never imagined that his own panic room would be used against him. He had paid through the nose to reinforce the door with vibranium, and was now cursing himself for that choice every time he, Steve, and Thor threw themselves against it to no avail. Peter was still screaming on the other side, and they hadn’t made so much as a dent. 

“Hold on, Peter!” he shouted, trying and failing to hide his own growing hysteria. “We’re coming, I promise! You’re going to be okay!” He slammed his iron-clad fist once more into the door before giving up and turning to face his teammates. Steve and Thor followed his example. “Bruce.” 

The doctor looked startled that he had been called out, but straightened to attention anyway. “What can I do?” 

“I need you to go green.” 

“Tony!” Nat gasped, stepping forward and resting a hand on Bruce’s shoulder. “I know you’re panicking, but that’s not a good idea.” 

Tony let out a huff, lowering the helmet so he could run his hands through his hair. Peter’s screams were as wild as ever. They didn’t have time for this. “I know what I’m asking. I know it’s a lot, and I know it’s dangerous, but we’re running out of options here. Bruce, please…” 

“I’ll do it,” Bruce said before Tony could finish his pitch. 

“You will?” Nat said, looking shocked. 

Bruce tightened his jaw, eyes filled with a contradictory mixture of determination and apprehension. “Yeah, but not until everyone is clear. I don’t want to hurt any of you.” 

“Deal,” Tony agreed before anyone else could speak. “Go!” 

The team listened for once without argument. It was probably because they were nearly as worried about Peter as he was. They filed down the hall, Nat giving Bruce’s shoulder one more encouraging squeeze before she left. Tony called again through the door. 

“Keep breathing, Pete! The big guy is about to show up and take a stab at the door, so things might get noisy!” He hadn’t really been expecting a response, but it still hurt when there wasn’t so much as a break in Peter’s screams. 

“You’ve got to go too,” Bruce said. “If I’m doing this, you need to be out of dodge.” 

“Okay. I’ll go.” He hated to leave. It felt like he was abandoning Peter, denying him the little comfort his voice could offer, but he knew Bruce was right. If Hulk was going to focus on barreling through the door, then there needed to be no other distractions. 

“You know this might not work,” Bruce said. “It’s possible that even the big guy won’t make it through that door.” 

“I know,” Tony said through his tight throat. “But we still have to try. Thank you.” He followed after his teammates, cringing with each step that took him further away from the shrieking, possibly dying, teenager he had promised to protect. 

FRIDAY directed him to where the rest of the team had gathered in one of the compound’s surveillance rooms. They were gathered around a monitor, watching the camera feed from outside the panic room. Bruce was already crouched over, hands in his hair, shirt ripping apart across his growing spine. It usually took him longer to unleash the Hulk, so he must have been incredibly upset about Peter for the transition to be happening so quickly. It made sense. Bruce was the only one who had spent as much time with the kid as Tony. The only other person who had witnessed the extent of his pain. 

The next thirty minutes were spent watching the Hulk throw everything he had at that door. Fists, shoulders, feet, and even his head all slammed repeatedly against the metal. As always, the big guy made an intimidating figure. They could hear and feel his bellows of frustration shaking the walls from several rooms away as he failed to break through the barrier. Unlike the efforts of the other three Avengers, Hulk did manage to create several craters in the door, but it wasn’t enough. The hinges remained as strong as ever, and though the metal bent, it refused to crack or allow for the smallest of holes. 

Hulk eventually gave up, and they watched through the camera feed as he slowly shrank back down to the scrawny doctor. Tony was on his way back to the panic room even before the transition was complete, the other Avengers close behind him. When they got there Bruce was on his knees, his ruined shirt spread across his lap. He looked near tears as he met Tony’s gaze. “I’m sorry.” 

“It’s not your fault.” Nat said the words that Tony should have, grabbing a blanket off a nearby couch and spreading it across the doctor’s shoulders. 

Instead of making any effort to comfort his devastated friend, Tony approached the door, resting one hand against the dented metal. He felt numb. They were the Avengers, supposedly earth’s mightiest heroes, and not one of them could break into a single tiny room. A room where a fifteen-year-old kid who’d already been through more than anyone his age should have to endure was suffering, maybe even dying. Tony hadn’t thought anything could be more terrible than listening to Peter’s screams, but he had been wrong, because now the screams had stopped and the silence was so so much worse. 

“Murphy,” he called through the door. “What’s going on?” There was no response, and he felt someone’s hand, maybe Rhodey’s, fall onto his shoulder. He shook away the touch without looking. “Murphy!” He pounded both fists against the door. 

“Tony,” Rhodey said, sounding almost afraid to address him. He didn’t turn, but his friend continued anyway. “I just used my Stark watch to run a heat signature on the room. There’s…” he swallowed hard as Tony suddenly swung on him, eyes wide and demanding. “Only one warm body was detected.” 

“Then it’s Peter!” Tony gasped, feeling his chest tighten. There was no other possibility. Murphy had talked about killing himself. The living body inside the room had to be Peter. It had to be. He was facing the door again and speaking through the metal. “Peter? Peter, come on. I know you’re there. I know you can hear me. Please, kid, I just need you to make a noise. Just make any sound to let me know you’re hanging in there. Peter? Peter, please!” The awful silence continued. Peter hadn’t made a noise, but neither had Murphy. Surely the man would have chosen to taunt them if Peter had died in front of him. That had to be a good sign. 

Somehow Tony ended up leaving the suit and sliding to his knees in front of the door. He didn’t remember the action, but was aware that he was on the floor with his cheek pressed against the cold metal, his hands shaking in his lap. He could hear his friends shuffling behind him, muttering to one another and asking FRIDAY for updates, but he didn’t even try to focus on any of their words. His throat was tight, and he felt something warm and wet trickling down his cheeks. He knew he had to keep talking. He stopped trying to speak loudly, because if Peter was conscious he would hear him at most any volume. The choked words came out at little above a whisper. 

“Please, kid. You can’t do this. I’m right here. I promise, I’m right here, and I’m going to get to you. You’re going to be out of there so soon. Just say something. Can you do that for me? Can you make a noise? Peter? Please, Peter.” 

The following silence was torture. It lasted for at least a whole minute, but then, so quietly, so pained, Peter spoke. “Mr. Stark...help me.” 

___

Peter heard his mentor’s words. At some point during the wild banging and deafening yells the Hulk was making, Peter had stopped screaming. It wasn’t that the pain had become any less intense; he was just too exhausted and dizzy to continue fighting against it. The involuntary shivers had returned, thanks to the drug-laced liquid, and though they were violent enough to make his teeth chatter, all other motion had stopped. He closed his eyes, drawing in shallow breaths that seemed to be doing very little in terms of clearing his head, and listened to Mr. Stark’s voice. 

He wasn’t even exactly sure when the Hulk had gone quiet and Mr. Stark had arrived, but he was grateful for the change in volume. Everything hurt enough already without the added attack on his sensitive ears. He listened to the words in silence, his brain feeling slushy. On some level he knew that Mr. Stark was asking him, no, begging him, for a sign that he was alive. He wanted to answer, but speaking no longer seemed like something he could do. He wasn’t even sure it mattered, because he was pretty certain he was going crazy anyway. It sounded like Tony Stark was crying, and that just wasn’t possible. 

“Can you make a noise? Peter? Please, Peter.” 

The man sounded so upset that Peter decided, whether this was real or not, he had to make himself speak. It took a lot of effort, and the first sounds to leave his throat were several dry hisses, but his lips and tongue finally began to form words. “Mr. Stark...help me.”

“Peter!” the gasped reply was strangled and followed by several panting breaths. “Thank, God! What’s going on? What happened? Can you tell me?” 

Since he had already made his tongue work once, words came easier the second time. Not that it didn’t still take a heck of a lot more effort than speaking ever should. Each syllable felt heavy in his mouth. “I’m...I’m...mmm...blood. There’s...is all...bloo...d.”

Even as out of it as he was, Peter could tell how hard Mr. Stark was working to calm down his voice. “Okay, Pete. Are you hearing me? This is important. Are you able to get yourself to the door? There’s a panel on the side that you should be able to open from your end.”

Peter almost felt like laughing. What an absurd idea. He pictured himself standing up and casually crossing the room; opening the door as if the thought had never occurred to him. “Tied...up.” 

“Okay,” Mr. Stark said. “I knew that was a long shot. Where are you bleeding? Is there any way to get some pressure on it from your position?” 

Peter made no effort to open his eyes. He could feel the hot, sticky blood coating what felt like every inch of his skin, but he had no desire to actually see it. “Can’t...mm...mm...mooove.” 

“That’s okay,” Mr. Stark said, sounding like he didn’t think it was okay at all. “We’re just waiting on FRIDAY to open the door. I need you to focus until that happens. Can you do that for me? Peter?” 

It took him several tries to answer, but he eventually managed. “Is...c...c...cold.” 

“Can you tell me what happened?” 

“B...Bill is...is dead. He...I’m...I’m...I’m…” He broke off, wondering when it had become so difficult to breathe. 

“Peter, I need you to keep talking. Are your eyes open?” 

Eyes? That’s right, he had eyes. Were they open? “No.” 

“Then I’m going to need you to open them up. Right now. Are they open?” 

Mr. Stark had suddenly gotten very firm, and Peter didn’t want to disappoint him. As much as he didn’t want to open his eyes, as much as the lids felt like they each weighed about a ton, he finally forced them up. The room was still too bright. It hurt his head, but he kept his eyes open. “Bright…” 

“Good job, Pete. That’s so good. Are you on the cot in there?” 

That’s right. He was. “Mmm…” It was the best he could do. 

“I’m going to go ahead and take that as a yes. There should be a row of monitors to your right. Can you see them? Are you looking? Peter?” 

Mr. Stark kept harassing him every time he remained quiet for too long. It was frustrating, because right now he just really wanted to sleep. The lights were hurting his eyes, the warm liquid surrounding his body was more than a little disturbing, and the continuous, burning hurt was more than he could handle. He hadn’t thought he’d be able to rest while the stimulant was, once again, racing through his bloodstream, but that didn’t seem to be the case. There were white clouds pressing in at the corners of his vision, and he thought that if he allowed them to, they could sweep him under the relief of sleep. It was tempting, but he couldn’t do that when his mentor kept prodding at him. He dragged his blurry eyes to the screens. 

“I...see scree...screens,” he slurred. 

“Good! That’s so fantastic! Look for me, okay? I’m right outside the door. Do you see me? I’m waving at the camera.” 

Peter’s gaze trailed slowly across the screens. It was hard to focus, but he eventually saw Mr. Stark. The man was sitting on the ground, back pressed against the door, and staring into the camera. As he’d promised, he was waving. Even though he could already hear his voice, something about watching his mentor’s eyes made Peter feel less alone. It made him want to blink back some of the fog. 

“I feel...r...rude...Not wa...waving baa...ck.” At his words, he could both hear and see Mr. Stark let out a surprised bark of laughter. He brought one hand to his face, wiping away what looked like tears, but didn’t stop staring into the camera. 

“I can’t believe you’re making jokes right now, kid. You keep that up, and my heart just might decide not to give out on me after all.” 

“Sh...itty sarcasm. Nine out of...of...ten surgeons...agree it...it’s...is the nu...umber one cure for...for...h...h...heart disease.” The words were slow and painful. Not exactly the bouncy delivery Peter usually preferred, but it must have gotten the point across because he heard laughter again.

“You’re hilarious, Pete.” He noticed that Mr. Stark kept using his name, and he was grateful. It was keeping him grounded. Awake. Maybe that’s what the man intended. 

“Can...can you g...g...get me now?” 

“Soon, Pete,” Mr. Stark promised. “Those eyes still open? Tell me what I’m doing now.” 

At the words, Peter realized he only saw black. When had he stopped looking at the screen? He didn’t remember giving his eyes permission to close. He forced them open, blinking slowly until he could make out the image of his mentor. He was picking his nose with exaggerated motions.

“Gross.” 

“Sorry, I couldn’t find a tissue. Tell me what you see. What else is in the room with you?” 

“Tired,” Peter complained. He didn’t want to look around the room. He didn’t want to keep talking. He wanted to be out. He wanted to sleep until the pain went away. What was taking them so long? 

“I know, Pete, but you can’t sleep now. Tell me what you see.” 

“Too dizzy...mmm cold.” 

“Then tell me what I’m doing. Look at the screen. Peter? Peter, are you looking?” 

He wasn’t. His eyes were closed again. Keeping them open took way too much effort. In fact, even breathing was beginning to feel like too much of a battle to be worth it. Mr. Stark was right there. He was right through the door. Why didn’t he come in and get him? Peter was sure there was a reason, but he couldn’t remember it through the muck filling his brain. 

“C...c...you g...get me n...ow?” 

“We’re coming soon, Peter. I’ll be there before you know it, but you have to work with me. Open your eyes.” 

“Can’t.” 

“Yes you can. Open ‘em up. Right now, Peter! Look at the screen and tell me what I’m doing.” 

“Mmm...cold.” 

“I know, but it’s okay. I think you’re in some shock, but I’m right here. I’m right here, bud.” 

If Mr. Stark was telling the truth, if he was right there, then why didn’t he get him? Maybe if he asked…

“Can yooo...g’m now?”

At the question, Peter heard Mr. Stark let out a soft moan. “Peter…” 

A second voice joined his mentor then. It sounded like Dr. Banner. “The confusion is from blood loss. Keep him awake. What you’re doing is great. It doesn’t matter how many times he repeats the same question as long as he keeps talking.” 

Blood loss? He was losing blood? That probably should have been scary, but Peter didn’t have much reaction to it at all. Everything hurt. Why did it hurt so much? He felt like screaming, but for some reason it was hard to even breathe. Mr. Stark was talking again. 

“Peter? You still hearing me? Are your eyes open? I need your eyes to be open.” 

“Stop.” The word came out a weak moan. He didn’t know if he was asking him to stop the pain, or asking for quiet. Maybe it was both. 

“Can’t do that, Pete. Open those eyes.” 

“Tired.” 

“I know, but you’re not sleeping now. Tell me what you see. Peter!” 

“Huuurts....” He tried to explain. Maybe if Mr. Stark understood that he was hurt, he’d let him rest. 

“I know. I’m so sorry, Peter.” 

“Tired.” 

“Don’t care. Keep talking. Tell me about that stupid movie you’re always quoting.” Movie? Which movie? Why was Mr. Stark asking him about a movie while he was trying to sleep. That felt rude. “Peter? Peter, what’s my name. Tell me my name.” 

Mr. Stark had forgotten his own name? That was worrisome. Someone should help him. Peter tried to sit up, but for some reason he couldn’t. The motion hurt. “You…’kay?” 

“I’m fine, Pete. What’s my name?” 

He didn’t sound fine. He sounded frantic, and he didn’t know his own name. “You...you...you…” He wanted to answer, but the words just weren’t coming. They kept getting stuck in the back of his throat. His mouth felt dry. 

“Peter, keep talking, bud.” 

“I...mmm...mmm...owww.” 

“Peter! Stay awake!” 

Awake. Stay awake. He had to stay awake. 

“Peter!” 

Awake. But the white clouds were so full. They were all he could see. 

“Peter, FRIDAY’s got it! I’m here! I’m here!” 

The words were loud, wild, in his ear. He felt warm hands on his cheeks. He heard other mutters. He felt pressure on his body that made him want to scream, but his throat didn’t work. Was he still breathing? He didn’t know. But he had been told to stay awake. Mr. Stark had told him to stay awake. He had to listen. 

Awake. Awake. Awake.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so grateful to everyone who has taken the time to read this story, and especially to those who have left kudos and comments! Your feedback means the absolute world to me and makes me excited to keep writing! Thank you, thank you, thank you! :D

It was quite possibly the worst day of Tony’s life. He had allowed his compound, his home, to be invaded by the same monster who had already made Peter’s life hell. Even seeing Murphy’s dead body slumped against the wall of the panic room had failed to make him feel any better. The man deserved so much worse, but Tony had very little time to dwell on that while he was doing everything in his power to keep Peter conscious. To keep him alive. 

It had been even worse than he’d feared. When they finally, finally got through Murphy’s coding and broke into the room, they found Peter lying on a cot, drenched in blood from his shoulders to feet. The mattress below him was dripping blood and a second, purple liquid onto the floor. Tony felt his knees go weak when he realized that Peter’s open wounds had been filled with the same liquid that had caused him such intolerable pain the first time. He knew he would have collapsed to the floor if he hadn’t been so desperate to stay with the kid. 

It was frustrating to realize that Peter was tied down with the same kind of ropes that had been in the warehouse, and they ended up having to wait several extra minutes to move him while Natasha ran to collect the small, metal device that would make them release. She was quick, and while she was gone the other Avengers gathered into the room, surrounding Peter and doing what they could to keep him stable. Bruce, Steve, Clint, and Sam all snatched whatever jackets and over-shirts they could in order to place immediate pressure on the deepest of Peter’s wounds. The kid let out a small, heartbreaking whimper at the pressure, but seemed unable to do much else. Tony leaned over his face, hands on the cold, clammy cheeks, and muttered words of comfort along with encouragements that were meant to keep him awake. 

Once Natasha returned, they had quickly moved him to the medbay where Bruce looked up his blood type and began an immediate transfusion. The doctor had then made the executive decision to put Peter under. Bruce still didn’t like the idea of what the drug interactions could do, and he knew, from experience, that the kid wouldn’t be out longer than half an hour, but he flat out refused to clean and dress the number of wounds on Peter’s skin while he was awake to feel it. Tony hadn’t been able to argue. He’d stayed at Peter’s side long enough for Bruce to administer the anesthesia, letting the kid know that it was finally okay to go to sleep. Peter definitely wasn’t hearing anything at that point, but, likely due to the stimulants coursing through his veins, it still took a heavy dosage and about ten minutes for him to finally black out completely. 

After that, feeling like the world’s biggest asshole, Tony had left the room. Had Peter been awake there was nothing that would have taken him away, but as it was he couldn’t fight the panic any longer. He rushed down the hallway to the nearest bathroom, barely closing the door behind him before falling to his knees and vomiting violently into the toilet. His entire body was trembling, and there might as well have been a block of cement resting on his chest for how tight his lungs felt. When he was finished heaving he wiped his mouth on his sleeve and crumpled down onto the tile, curling up like a sick child and allowing the panic crash over him. 

The panic attack was a vicious one. He was glad he was alone, because it involved a lot of gasps, whimpers, tears, and hair tugging, and he wasn’t able to pull himself back together for well over an hour. When he was eventually able to drag himself back to his feet, he stood at the sink and rinsed the acrid taste of vomit from his mouth. He then combed his fingers through his hair without bothering to look in the mirror. He knew how swollen and bloodshot his eyes would be, and he still felt shaky and weak, but there was nothing he could do about that. He needed to get back to Peter. He’d already been gone too long.

When he made it back to the medbay he found Rhodey and Steve standing outside the door, blocking his path. They both frowned when they saw him, though neither made any mention of his appearance. He was thankful for that. 

“You can’t go in there,” Rhodey said when Tony gave his friends a questioning look. He froze. 

“Come again?” 

“I’m sorry,” Steve said, looking like it physically pained him to speak the words. “But he’s right. Bruce asked us to keep you out.” 

“You can’t be serious.” He reached for the doorknob, but was halted when Steve took his wrist in a gentle, but firm grip. 

“I am serious,” the captain said. “I wish I wasn’t, but I have to do what Bruce asked. We all do.” 

A sudden scream came from behind the door, the sound crushing Tony’s heart all over again. Peter’s voice was anything but strong, the shout a cracked, horrible thing that expressed just how wrecked the kid was. He lunged forward, Steve’s sudden grip on his shoulders the only thing keeping him from bursting into the room. “He needs me!” he shouted furiously. 

“Tony, please calm down,” Rhodey said. “I know this sucks, but there’s nothing you can do. Bruce is doing everything he can to flush out that poison and stop the bleeding. He asked us to make sure you stayed out. He has to work fast, and he can’t have you getting in the way.” 

“But Peter’s awake!” Tony growled, continuing to struggle against the super soldier even though he knew it was futile. 

“Peter’s delirious,” Steve said. “He wouldn’t recognize you even if you were right in front of him. You have to let Bruce do his work.” 

“He can’t do it alone! There’s too much damage. The blood…” 

“Breathe, Tony,” Rhodey demanded. “Bruce isn’t alone. Sam and Bucky are with him. They both have enough field training to at least follow directions. Peter’s in good hands.”

Tony stumbled back a step at that news, causing Steve to break his hold. The captain remained planted solidly in front of the door, but he and Rhodey were both staring at Tony in concern. He ran a hand roughly through his hair. This wasn’t possible. There was no way that Bucky-freaking-Barnes was in there with Peter while he himself was being denied access. There was no universe where that made sense. 

“Barnes?” he finally hissed, glaring at Steve. 

The captain stood his ground. “Bruce needed someone strong enough to hold Peter down. He asked me, but I wanted to be here for you. I understand why you hate him, but Bucky’s got this. I wouldn’t have let him take my place if I’d thought for a moment that it wasn’t what was best for Peter.” 

“You’d better be right.” The threat was followed by an involuntary groan as another scream rang out from behind the door. How was it possible that Peter was still suffering just out of his reach? It felt like some sick form of deja vu. 

“There’s nothing more you can do here,” Rhodey spoke gently. “Why don’t you go find somewhere to rest?” 

“You’re out of your mind if you think I’m sleeping right now!” 

Rhodey gave him a sharp look that only the colonel could get away with. “Did I say anything about sleep? I just meant that you should sit down, maybe grab a cup of coffee. Bruce will let us know the minute there’s any news.” 

Tony wanted to argue, but realized that short of suiting up and physically fighting Steve (and he unfortunately knew how that would play out) there was little he could do to change their minds. He settled for glowering at both men and sitting down, right there in the hallway. Unless he was granted access to the medbay, he wasn’t moving a muscle until he knew Peter was going to be okay. 

“You’re a stubborn ass,” Rhodey said, letting out a sigh and sitting beside him on the floor. 

“You already knew that.” 

“Yeah, I guess I did.” 

That was the last that was said for another two hours. Steve never abandoned his post, but ended up leaning back against the door with his arms crossed and a troubled frown plastered across his face. Tony eventually hunched forward, burying his face in his hands, and Rhodey’s palm came to rest against his friend’s back. Every minute of waiting was agony. Peter wasn’t screaming constantly, but his sporadic cries remained frequent enough to keep them all on edge. Each scream, if you could even call the shredded noises that, sounded worse than the last. Even without being able to see him it was obvious that Peter was utterly spent, and with each new wail Tony became a little less certain that the kid was going to pull through this at all. 

When Sam and Bucky finally emerged from the room, it was with shell-shocked expressions and arms and shirts that were splattered with blood. They had apparently been wearing gloves, because their hands were clean. Tony was on his feet instantly, Rhodey beside him and loosely gripping his arm. “Just say it,” Tony demanded. 

“He’s alive.” 

It looked like Sam was about to say more, but Tony was already pushing past him and entering the medbay. No one moved to stop him, and once inside he had to blink several times in order for his eyes to adjust. The room wasn’t pitch black, but compared to the brightness of the hallway it took him a minute to be able to see. He was glad, for Peter’s sake, that Bruce had remembered to quiet the lights. He realized, after a moment, that the doctor had also dimmed and silenced the half dozen machines that surrounded the bed. There was a chair beside the bed, occupied by Bruce, who was leaning back and staring straight ahead with glassy, unseeing eyes. The oversized trousers and lab coat he had flung on before rushing Peter to the medbay were both wet with blood, as were his arms up to the elbows. He hadn’t even bothered to remove his gloves, both hands dripping additional red stains across his lap.

“Bruce?” Tony asked, suddenly afraid to look properly at the bed. The doctor startled out of his haze, turning to meet Tony’s gaze. He raised one hand, looking like he was getting ready to rub it over his face, before seeming to notice the blood and dropping it back to his lap. 

“He’s out,” Bruce said, his voice frighteningly monotone. “He shouldn’t be. Not with the amount of stimulants in his system.” 

Tony swallowed, trying to choke down what felt like an entire melon in his throat. “The anesthesia…?” 

“Wore off hours ago. I finally got the bleeding to stop, but I...but he…” His voice cracked and he gestured helplessly toward the unmoving figure on the bed. “He’s alive, but I honestly don’t know how. Between the amount of blood he lost and how much of that poisonous solution he has in his body... It’s gotta be his healing factor. Anyone else…” 

Tony held up a hand. He didn’t need to hear it again. Once was more than enough. Peter was alive. He was alive when anyone else would be dead. It took him a moment to remember how to speak. “How is he?” 

“Stable, at the moment. I replaced more than half his blood volume, and Sam, Bucky, and I all worked on his sutures. I can’t promise they’ll all be pretty, but I couldn’t do that many by myself. Tony…” his voice broke again, and this time he did bring a hand to his forehead, ignoring the blood the action smeared across his skin. 

Tony had crossed the room, gripping his friend’s shoulder before he realized what he was doing. “You okay?” 

Bruce shook his head vigorously, staring down at his lap. “He’s such a mess. Murphy cut him so many times; chest, stomach, shoulders, hands, legs. Just everywhere. This shouldn’t have happened.” He suddenly stared at Tony, eyes watery. “We should never have left him alone.” 

“This isn’t on you,” Tony said, not really sure where he was finding the words to comfort the doctor when he still hadn’t been able to look at Peter. It was probably because he knew Bruce was the only reason the kid was still alive. He should have been the last person feeling responsible for what happened.

“Isn’t it?” It was uncomfortable, seeing how haunted Bruce looked. “Peter told me he didn’t need pain meds for his hip. If I’d listened he might not have been so out of it when Murphy...when that animal showed up. He might have been able to defend himself.” 

That had already occurred to Tony. They had both insisted on drugging Peter and then leaving him alone to rest. If they hadn’t done that…

“No,” he said, cutting off his own guilty thoughts in his haste to reassure Bruce. “You’ve seen how Peter is. He refuses the things he needs if he thinks it’s going to inconvenience someone else. All you, we, did was refuse to let him stay up all night in pain when he didn’t have to. There was no way to know what was going to happen. You didn’t do this.”

There was a long gap of silence before Bruce spoke again. “You didn’t do this either. Is that why you haven’t looked at him yet? You think it’s your fault?”

It was obviously his fault. His compound. His designs. His panic room. He didn’t feel like getting into any of that though. “I think I’m just scared of what I’ll see,” he finally found an honest answer. 

“It’s not as bad as when we found him. I know I’m covered,” he glanced miserably over his gory attire. “But Sam and Bucky cleaned him up a little before they got you. I just couldn’t anymore. Once he passed out I just...I couldn’t, but he’s okay at the moment. You should look.” 

Tony gave a stiff nod. He couldn’t keep hiding. He owed it to Peter to be fully aware of what he’d been through. There was a small, cowardly piece of him that didn’t want to know, but he made himself shut that down. He let out a shuttering breath and turned to face the bed. 

It wasn’t as horrible as he had feared. Peter looked awful lying there unconscious, covered up to his neck by a white sheet that was almost the exact shade as his face, but he wasn’t the bloody, whimpery mess that they had pulled from the panic room. There were a few flecks of dried brown blood across his face, and several drops staining the sheet and floor around the bed, but for the most part Sam and Bucky had done a decent job cleaning up. Tony understood that if he looked beneath the sheet it would be a different story, but right now, seeing only this much of him, it looked like Peter wasn’t critically injured. He looked small, frighteningly pale, and was hooked up to a handful of different wires and tubes, but it was a relief to see him resting. At least if he was unconscious he wasn’t feeling any pain. 

“How long do you think he’ll be out?” Tony asked without pulling his gaze from Peter. Now that’d he’d faced it, he didn’t want to look away again. 

“Like I said before, he really shouldn’t be able to be sleeping right now. I rinsed as much of that purple junk out of his cuts as I could, but he’s still loaded with the stuff.” 

“But is it safe?” 

“I don’t think so.” Bruce paused and let out a long sigh. “Actually, I know it’s not. He should be awake, Tony. All we can hope for is that his abilities have somehow allowed his body to rest. Otherwise…” His voice cracked, and he didn’t go on. 

“No.” The word came out in a horrified puff of breath. That couldn’t happen. Not after everything. His hand found Peter’s cheek, the skin beneath his fingers much colder than it should have been. 

“I’m sorry,” Bruce said, obvious tears in his voice now. “But unless we get some sort of spider-powered miracle, I don’t think Peter’s waking up again.” 

He’d been expecting it. A part of him had been expecting those words from the moment he entered the room and saw Bruce sitting in the chair, staring blankly ahead as if he had just watched the world shatter in front of him. It was similar to how Tony was feeling now. A world where Peter Parker no longer existed, a world where Peter Parker no longer existed because of him, was not a reality he could accept. It was not a reality he would ever be able to accept. If Peter didn’t wake up…

Peter had to wake up. 

___ 

Spider Man was swinging through the sky, wind whipping around his body and whistling through his ears just the way he liked it. He felt weightless. Invincible. He had an endless supply of web fluid. There were no buildings visible below him. There were only white clouds and blue skies as far as he could see in any direction. Maybe that should have been concerning, but it wasn’t. It was freeing. Each flick of his wrist and sling of web brought him higher. He was swinging from the clouds themselves, up, and up, and up. It was so quiet this high up. So tranquil. He wasn’t sure he ever wanted to come back down. In fact, he wasn’t even sure which direction would lead him down at this point. 

Not that it mattered. He whizzed through the sky on an incredibly long string, letting out a whoop of exhilaration before doing a series of spiraling backflips. This was where he belonged. Tight, stretchy fabric clinging to his body like a second skin. Energy bursting from somewhere deep inside. A joyful brightness shooting out of him in the form of excited shouts and laughter. He could do this forever. 

At least that’s what he thought until he heard a low rumble from somewhere behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see a storm approaching in the form of black, unforgiving clouds. He threw his energy into swinging faster, trying to travel deeper into brighter skies where everything was peaceful. It worked, for a minute, but then the blackness was around him. It wasn’t even storm clouds anymore, just an all encompassing darkness that seemed intent on taking him over. He slung another web, and watched the white strand cutting through the blackness that was now everywhere until it attached to...nothing. It attached to nothing, and then Peter was falling. Not Spider Man. Peter. 

He realized the suit and his web shooters were gone when he desperately tried to sling another web. He was somersaulting downward, falling through open air with nothing to catch him. He thought at some point he would hit the ground. He closed his eyes, waiting for the inevitable feeling of his body slamming and breaking apart against pavement, but it didn’t come. He just kept falling, falling, falling. Down, and down, and down. 

After what could have been either minutes or hours, he found the courage to open his eyes again. It ended up making no difference, as he was still entirely surrounded by impenetrable blackness. He was definitely still falling, but it didn’t feel like his body was moving very quickly. It wasn’t the same as any of the times he had misfired a web in the city and fallen off a building. It was more of a leisurely downward tumble. At least that’s what it felt like. It was hard to know for sure when he couldn’t see anything. 

He continued falling long enough for the expectation of hitting the ground to disappear. The fear of splatting against the earth vanished entirely, because he had just realized something. 

“This isn’t real.” 

He was certain that he hadn’t moved his lips, but he still heard his own voice as clearly as if he had spoken aloud. Something crazy was going on. Something was very very wrong. Why had it taken him so long to realize that? Why had he thought it was normal, fun even, to swing from clouds across a never-ending sky? Why had he thought it was possible to fall forever? It wasn’t, and yet that’s what was happening. There was only one explanation. 

“You’re dreaming, Peter. You need to wake up.” 

He wasn’t about to argue with his own, disembodied voice, and yet he didn’t know if he could wake up. Furthermore, he wasn't sure he wanted to. It wasn’t exactly pleasant to be toppling through endless darkness, but it wasn’t the worst thing either. He couldn’t remember why waking up might be a bad idea, but he was certain that something dark awaited him if he came out of this dream. Something even darker than the literal blackness surrounding him now. He had no idea how long he spent thinking about the pros and cons of trying to snap himself out of the dream when a new voice, one that wasn’t his, interrupted his thoughts. 

“...and if you wake up now, I promise you’ll get to see Wakanda. Remember how badly you wanted to go? I’ll fly you there; even get you a personal tour with the Cat King himself if that’s what it takes. Anything you want, I’ll make it happen. Just please wake up, Pete.”

Okay, if there had been any remaining doubt that this was a dream, the sound of Mr. Stark’s voice had just eliminated it. He no longer felt panicked that he was plummeting blindly downward, but he was starting to think that he should. Though he couldn’t see it, he was beginning to believe there might be a way out of the darkness after all. He just had to find it. Did he want to find it? 

“Come on, Peter. I can’t have this on me. I tried so hard. Now you’ve gotta do your part and wake up. Please wake up.” 

This time it was Dr. Banner’s voice cutting through his musings. It sounded like he was crying, which was strange, because Peter associated the man with calm. Hulk aside, Dr. Banner was the most even-tempered person Peter had ever met. Hearing him so desperate, voice choked with tears, was disconcerting. Not to mention the fact that now two Avengers had asked him to wake up. He made the decision to try, and then his own voice was talking to him again.

“Come on, Peter. Focus. What’s real? The darkness isn’t. The falling can’t be. Look around. What else do you see?” 

He obeyed, squinting through the seemingly endless sea of black for what felt like a very long time. Long enough to become frustrated. “There’s nothing here!” he yelled at himself. 

“That’s not true,” his own voice answered. “You’re just too scared to see it.” 

“I’m not! I’m trying!” 

“No, you’re not. You’re hiding.” 

“When did you become such a jerk?” he grumbled at himself. 

“Peter,” his own voice was suddenly incredibly serious. “You know you’re dying, right?” 

His throat went dry. He was dying? No, that couldn’t be. 

“You know it’s true.” 

“I don’t.” 

“You do,” his voice insisted. 

“How do you know?” 

“Because I’m you.” 

It was hard to disagree with that logic. He suddenly realized that he should be afraid of the darkness. He should fear it with everything that was in him, because he didn’t want to die. 

“Okay,” he said. “You’re right. Time to wake up.” 

“Past time. Now focus. What do you see?” 

He gave it his all. He narrowed his eyes and swiveled his neck. What else was there? He knew there was something else beyond the darkness. He kept looking, searching, until the blanket of blackness began to ripple. Somewhere far ahead of him, it began to tear, letting in a steam of yellow light. It was too bright. It made him want to close his eyes. Shy away. 

“Don’t you dare!” his own voice chided him. “Go to it!” 

He listened, and suddenly he wasn’t falling anymore. He was suspended in place, floating somewhere in the dark. He began moving his arms and legs, as if he was swimming, and it worked. His body began moving toward the stream of light. 

“Go, go, go,” he cheered himself on. 

He was getting close. Just a few more feet. He could hear noises coming from the light. Someone breathing. The shuffle of sheets. A sigh. Something about it was comforting, and it made him want to move faster. He reached out, fingertips skimming the tear in the blackness, barely touching the glow that he knew would lead to wakefulness; that would lead to life. He was about to move through it when a devastating wave of pain suddenly slammed across what felt like every inch of his body. He cried out and withdrew his hand, and the moment he was no longer touching the light, the pain dissolved. 

“Go,” his voice encouraged again. 

He leaned back, arms pressed against his chest, staring at the light. “I can’t.” 

“You have to.” 

Did he have to? The darkness was still behind him. If he backed away from the light, shut it out and allowed himself to fall again, he thought that he might hit something this time. That he might reach his destination where he could finally be still. If he stopped fighting it, he could rest. 

“No,” his voice said. 

“Why?” 

“Because you don’t want to die.” 

That remained true, but did he really want to live? Did he really want to wake up and face the pain he now knew was waiting on the other side of that light? 

“Yes.” 

He still wasn’t sure. 

“Peter, you don’t have time for this.” 

He realized his own voice was right. The tear that allowed the brightness to shine through was slowly beginning to knit itself back together. 

“You have to move.” 

He continued to watch it close. It wasn’t so bad here. It didn’t hurt here. 

“Peter, go now!” 

His own voice was frantic, begging. The light was now shining through a gap only half the length of his body. 

“You’re running out of time!” 

He didn’t want to hurt anymore. He was so tired. 

“Peter, please.” The voice wasn’t his. It wasn’t loud. In fact, it was barely a whisper, coming from the rapidly-closing light. 

Mr. Stark. 

He decided without allowing himself to think, throwing his hand forward through the light. He was reaching for that voice. Reaching for Mr. Stark. His hand barely fit, but once it was inside, the brightness opened wide again and sucked him through. There was no changing his mind now.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeesh! Sorry, guys! I can't believe it took me over a week to get this chapter out. Writer's block was truly working against me here, but I eventually powered through. Thanks for your patience! I'm working on a new Peter story right now, and the first chapter should be posted in the next day or two, so if you're interested keep an eye out for that. Don't worry, not quitting this one until it's finished!

Things had been hard for Peter once he had woken up. He was often confused about where he was and who was with him, had nightmares that seemed terrifying and vivid almost every time he fell asleep, and more often than not refused to speak or eat anywhere near enough. The rest he did get was always brief and fitful as the stimulating drugs continued to work their way out of his system. The uncontrollable shaking had returned almost the moment he had regained consciousness, and his pain had reached a level that seemed utterly exhausting to deal with. He was back on the super pain meds Bruce had developed for him, and though they were an incredible help, it was clear Peter never found complete relief anymore. 

“There you go. Good job. Bruce is going to be so proud when I tell him you won’t be needing any IV fluids tonight.” Tony spoke while lowering the glass of orange juice Peter had just finished. It had taken nearly an hour of patient coaxing, but the kid had eventually drained the glass. It was a rare victory. 

“You feel like chatting yet?” Tony asked, setting the glass on the nightstand and using a towel to wipe away the drops of juice that had dribbled down Peter’s chin. “You know I love the sound of my own voice. It’s got a nice low timbre that people, mostly chicks,” he paused to wink at Peter, “seem to enjoy. But I guess it’s possible you’re getting sick of the stories about my unparalleled brilliance by now. If you wanted, I could probably be persuaded to share the mic for a minute or two.” 

He watched Peter for reaction, and though the kid was looking at him, he didn’t seem all the way there. It had been three days since he had woken up from his unconscious spell; his fifty-seven hour unconscious spell that had taken at least that many years off Tony’s life. He was willing to give Peter as much time as he needed to come back to himself. He didn’t care if three days became three years; as long as the kid was there, breathing, alive, Tony was satisfied. He wasn’t going to rush a thing, because he remembered (from all too recently) what it felt like to think Peter wasn’t coming back.

He had sat beside the unconscious figure for nearly two and a half days, talking to him frequently and watching the heart rate monitor; wondering if every bump in the line would be the last. The other Avengers had each independently shuffled into the room at one point or another, but it had felt more like they were saying goodbye and offering support to Tony than actually expecting Peter to pull through. Even Bruce, after the first full day of sitting with Tony at the bedside, had finally wiped the tears from his eyes and left the medbay without a word. Tony had hated the feeling of being the only one who still believed in Peter. He had started to wonder if he was the one in denial, refusing to accept the truth, when Peter had finally opened his eyes with a weak gasp. It had been the best moment of Tony’s life.

“You...you talk,” Peter said, weak and stuttering through his continued shivers. Tony shot him a giant grin. It was hard to watch the kid’s teeth rattling from the shaking. He knew how much Peter hated it. He knew how draining the constant motion was, but every word Peter spoke now filled him with warmth. No matter how difficult of a time he was having, it was nice to hear that voice. Peter seldom said anything these days. 

“You gotcha! It’s one of the many things I’m good at. Now, do I want to embarrass Capsicle with another humiliating story about misinterpreting modern day references, or shall I tell you about my more memorable conquests? There are just so many great options here.”

He was hoping for a smile. He could sometimes get one if he was funny enough, and if Peter was feeling a little more relaxed than usual, but right now the kid was looking really uncomfortable. He wasn’t due for more meds for another two hours and thirty-three minutes (yes, Tony counted the minutes), but he had started doing that slight shifting and finger tapping that only happened when the pain was getting to be too much. Not for the first (or hundredth) time, Tony wished he could resurrect Murphy just to kill him again. 

“Think I’ll go with the Cap story,” he said, reaching out to grip Peter’s wrist. Until it was time for more meds, Peter was going to need some pretty serious distracting, and Tony was more than willing to provide that. He started with a story about the numerous voicemails Steve used to leave on Tony and the other Avenger’s cell phones, not understanding the recorded messages and thinking he was talking to an actual person for up to several minutes at a time. He followed that with the time the captain didn’t know how his phone camera worked and ended up taking and sending several dozen selfies of his own face while he was supposed to be staking out a HYDRA base.

“Natasha enlarged one of her favorites and hung it over one of the compound’s fireplaces. It was not a flattering angle. I’d show it to you when you’re feeling better, but Steve keeps taking it down.” 

“It’ll be back.” Tony startled and turned to find Steve standing in the doorway, an easy smile on his face. If Tony hadn’t known him so well, he might not have noticed the genuine concern in his eyes. “I’ve destroyed that thing at least eight times, and a new one always replaces it within the month.”

“Thank goodness for that,” Tony said. “What’s up?” 

“Just thought I’d check in. Bruce was going to, but he keeps skipping dinner. I made him sit down with a plate and came in his stead. I didn’t realize you were busy having fun at my expense, or I wouldn’t have interrupted.” 

“Don’t be silly. You know I prefer to make fun of you while you’re present.” 

Both men were keeping their voices light, but Tony could tell Steve was just as worried about Peter as he was. The kid was staring at the ceiling and had brought the tip of one thumb to his mouth, biting down hard. Tony knew it was to keep him from calling out, but it failed to muffle the occasional moans and gasps. There was still over an hour left on the meds, and Tony absolutely hated the fact that Peter was hurting so much. After a brief look between Tony and Peter, Steve took a seat at the bedside without being told. He and Tony then fell into an unspoken agreement to distract Peter, spending the next hour jokingly bantering, telling stories about their past adventures, and arguing about which of the more embarrassing of their alleged moments had actually occurred. It wasn’t a perfect solution, but the conversation seemed to hold Peter’s attention at least a little. 

The real goal was to keep Peter from giving himself over to the pain. When it got really bad he had a terrifying habit of squeezing his eyes shut and twisting, sometimes violently, on the bed. Once in a while he would even scream and beg for people who weren’t there, usually his deceased uncle, but sometimes his friends from school. Those episodes were always difficult to watch, and they usually left Peter even weaker and more exhausted than he already was. That’s why it was such a relief when Peter, though in obvious discomfort, was still quiet and lucid when Bruce arrived to administer his next dose of pain relief. 

The doctor looked beaten when he entered the room, though as of late that wasn’t unusual. Something seemed to have broken inside Bruce after his most recent struggle to keep Peter alive (and yes, Tony hated that Peter had fought for his life more than once in the past month alone). The doctor, though calm and thorough in his work as ever, had lost his easy smile. He constantly looked troubled, his shirts and pants had all begun to hang off him as he lost weight, and the dark bags beneath his eyes were more pronounced than ever. The team was worried, but he was sensitive about anyone mentioning his health, always directing the conversation back to Peter. He had clearly taken on a great deal of responsibility and guilt concerning Peter’s well being. Tony promised himself that, once Peter was stronger, he was going to do all in his power to help Bruce overcome whatever demons he was fighting. The man was his friend; not to mention that he was the only reason Peter had survived everything Murphy had done to him. 

“You made it, Peter. You did so well. This’ll help.” Bruce didn’t hesitate to cross the room and inject Peter’s next dose into the single IV line still connected to his hand. There had been others, but Bruce had removed them over the past couple days. The one remaining was for meds and a solution of fluids and nutrients that was continuing to flush the poison out of Peter’s bloodstream. Bruce turned his gaze to Tony and Steve. “Was waiting very hard?” 

“He’s a champ,” Tony said, knowing Peter was still listening. “But that window where the old dose is wearing off and it’s too soon for the next one isn’t any fun.” 

“No, I know it’s not. I’m just afraid he’ll overdose if I administer the meds any closer together.” They’d been over this, of course, but Tony didn’t comment on that. 

“In brighter news, I got a glass of orange juice into him. That ought to be enough fluid and sugar for the evening, right?” 

Bruce nodded, looking thoughtful. “Yeah. Yeah, that should be fine. Good job.” 

“Praise Peter, not me. He’s the one who got it down.” Bruce gave him a look that said he knew exactly how much effort it took to get Peter to swallow anything. 

“How long till those meds kick in?” Steve said, nodding toward the IV. Unlike Tony and Bruce, he was not used to sitting at Peter’s side all hours of the day and night. 

“Twenty minutes, give or take,” Tony said. “You still hanging in there, Pete?” He didn’t really expect an answer, but when he gave Peter’s hand a quick squeeze, he got a reassuring tightening of fingers in return. “Like I said before, kid, you’re a champ.” 

It was fairly obvious that Peter didn't feel up to talking, and he’d be an incoherent mess once the meds started working anyway, so it was just as well. Even though he was no longer needed, Bruce did not seem ready to leave. There were several beats of awkward silence before Steve broke it by jumping into another story, this time making fun of one of Bruce’s less graceful moments in the lab. The incident had involved a poorly measured ingredient and a resulting miniature explosion. Though the teasing was lighthearted, Bruce barely even smiled. 

It only took another two stories before Peter looked like he was starting to feel some relief. Though unable to stop shaking, his muscles untensed a good deal and he sank further down into the pillows. The thumb he had been biting down on fell to rest at his side, and his breaths became more even. Tony and Steve continued their chatting for nearly another thirty minutes before Peter finally fell into one of his fitful sleeps. Due to the drugs in his system, Peter never slept easy, and Tony knew the kid would be up again in an hour at the latest. However, he was learning to appreciate the small wins, and that included any amount of time Peter was able to rest. He’d been getting so little, and it was crucial to his recovery. 

“Why are you hovering?” Tony finally addressed Bruce, who was standing near the head of the bed, flipping through one of his electronic medical charts. The doctor jumped a little at being addressed so suddenly, but lowered his tablet. 

“I was waiting to see if he’d conk out. His wounds probably don’t need to be redressed yet, but I want to check his bandages and make sure he hasn’t bled through any of them. I knew it would go easier if he was asleep.” 

“Well then you’d better get to it,” Tony said. “You know he won’t be out long.” 

Bruce dragged a hand over his face. “I know.” 

Steve managed to catch Tony’s eye as Bruce leaned over Peter, drawing back the sheets to reveal his mostly bare body, dressed only in a loose pair of boxers. The captain’s gaze said what Tony was already thinking; Bruce wasn’t looking good. If he didn’t start taking care of himself soon, they were going to have to intervene. They watched as Bruce meticulously checked the white bandages that were wrapped around most of the kid’s body. His chest, stomach, arms, hands, and legs were all neatly bandaged. Tony swallowed a sudden lump in his throat, but realized he couldn’t look away. He couldn’t stand it when the sheets were moved. Peter was usually covered, and Tony despised seeing how many times the kid’s flesh had been cut into while he’d been unable to help. It was a nightmarish reminder that Peter had nearly bled to death from mere feet away. 

“These look okay,” Bruce interrupted Tony’s dark thoughts, gently pulling the sheets back over Peter’s body. “I’m going to need to unwrap them soon and see how he’s recovering. I think the poison is slowing his healing factor a little, but he might be ready to have the stitches out anyway. I’m going to push it till tomorrow to check. I don’t care for how pale he’s looking today. How’s his pain been?” He looked at Tony, knowing he hadn’t left Peter’s side for longer than five minutes at a time in nearly six days. 

“About the same as usual, I guess. As long as he’s medicated, he seems all right. I think he’s just exhausted.” 

“It does concern me that it’s taking so long for Murphy’s drugs to leave his system,” Bruce said. 

“Why is that?” Steve asked. “It didn’t take so long last time.” 

Bruce grimaced, but answered the question. “Last time was painful, but there was a relatively small amount of poison on the needles and nails. It was also introduced to Peter’s bloodstream over a number of days that allowed his body to combat its effects. This time at least a couple liters of it were poured directly into his open wounds. That’s going to take a while to work its way out of his blood.”  
At that news, Steve muttered a word under his breath that Tony had never heard him say before. He would have harassed him about his “language” if he didn’t agree so fully with the sentiment. Bruce had told him this before, when Steve was not present, but that made hearing it again no easier. Bruce must have seen his pained expression, because the doctor addressed him next. 

“You okay, Tony?” 

“Yeah,” he said. “I just hate this.” 

“I’m with you there,” Bruce said. “But I’ve got to say something even though, taking into account my previous fifty attempts, it won’t do any good. You really should rest. It’s been days since you’ve even let yourself lie down. Go grab a nap, or at the very least take a shower and eat a decent meal. I’ll stay with Peter until you’re back.” 

Tony let out an incredulous snort. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. Are you listening to this, Cap?” 

Steve shrugged one shoulder. “He’s got a point.” 

Tony glared at him. “Not the issue.” 

“Then what is the issue?” Bruce asked. “I feel like I’m missing something.” 

“Obviously!” The word came out exasperated, but not loudly. Tony was very aware of the sleeping boy in the bed beside him who he wasn’t about to risk waking. Bruce still looked confused. 

“I think Tony’s referring to the fact that he, well all of us actually, have found your behavior since the panic room incident a little concerning,” Steve explained. 

“Concerning? How so? Is this about Hulk, because I promise you he’s…” 

“No, it’s not about Mr. Green!” Tony interrupted. 

“But Steve said everyone is concerned. I assume that means the team, so if it’s not about Hulk then I’m at a loss.” 

Tony felt his eyes roll nearly to the back of his head, but Steve was talking again before he could spit out the snarky comment he’d been planning. “We’re worried about your health, Bruce. Everyone has been commenting on it here and there. The weight loss, the not sleeping, and what looks like a good deal of guilt and possible depression.” 

Bruce crossed his arms. “I didn’t realize you had a degree in mental health.” 

“I got that part from Sam,” Steve said. “And I guess I can add easily offended to the list now as well.” 

Tony snorted. He hadn’t been expecting that kind of response from the captain, but upon seeing Bruce’s hurt reaction he swallowed his amusement. “Look,” he said, his voice far less biting now. “I wasn’t going to bring this up until Peter was more healed, but you harassing me about not taking care of myself was the last straw. I know I’m not resting, but that’s nothing new for me. Health has never been my number one priority.” 

“But it’s been mine?” Bruce asked. He hadn’t uncrossed his arms and still looked annoyed. 

“I’m self-destructive, you know that, but you’re not. Sure, you’ve had your issues with the Big Guy, gotten pretty low a time or two, but you’ve never been the type to shut down while your friends are around.” 

“I haven’t shut down.” 

“In the ways that matter I’ve gotta say you have. Something happened to you. I saw something crack when you thought Peter wasn’t going to wake up.” The last words came out thick, even now it was hard to think about Peter that way, but Tony’s reaction was nothing compared to Bruce’s. The doctor’s eyes darkened immediately in a way Tony had never seen unless Hulk was about to show up. However, there wasn’t a trace of green in the doctor’s skin. 

“I never asked for this,” he spat out, barely above a whisper. “I never asked to be the one in charge of keeping a fifteen-year-old alive. Of keeping him sane through some of the most painful injuries I’ve ever witnessed. That shouldn’t have been my responsibility, and yet it was. And do you know the worst part? I actually like Peter. I would have cared about any patient, but with him it’s personal. He shouldn’t be suffering, he shouldn’t have been kidnapped ever, let alone twice, and he shouldn’t have bled nearly to death in our own compound. I know you care about him, Tony. A blind man could see that. And I know you feel guilty, but you’re not the one in charge of keeping him alive. That’s on me. So when I thought I’d failed in that. When I thought…” he broke off. “Excuse me for not being in the most upbeat head space right now.”

Both Tony and Steve were silent for a beat. Bruce’s outburst was unexpected, as he was generally of few words and very composed. It made sense though. It explained a lot about how he’d been acting for the past few days. Not that understanding his feelings made his struggle any less concerning. 

“I’m sorry,” Steve spoke up first. “I shouldn’t have pushed. You’re dealing with a lot.” 

“We all are,” Bruce said. “But until Peter’s through this I’d prefer not to be ambushed about my own health again. Tony?” 

“Yeah?” he answered somewhat sheepishly. 

“Since I can assume you won’t be leaving for that shower and meal, I’m going to go. Have FRIDAY call me if Peter needs anything. I’ll be back in time for his next round of meds, if not sooner.” At that he left them, moving stiffly with his hands balled into fists at his side. Tony didn’t speak until he was out of sight.

“Well that could have gone better.”

“To put it lightly.” Steve stood from his chair. “I feel like a jerk.” 

“He’s not okay,” Tony said. “We had good reason to say something.” 

“I don’t disagree with you. I just think it could have been handled better. Hopefully he’ll get back to normal once Peter’s doing better. If not, we can talk to the team about an intervention or something.” 

Tony raised an eyebrow. “An intervention?” 

“Or something. I don’t know.” He began toward the door. 

“Where are you going?” 

“It’s getting late,” Steve said. “I’d tell you to get some rest while I stayed with Peter, but I already know your answer.” 

“Sleep tight.” 

“That’s what I thought. Just know I’m willing to take a shift if you ever decide you need a break. Get me at any time.” 

“Thanks, but I won’t.” 

Steve sighed. “I know you won’t. Goodnight, Tony.” 

“Night.” 

Tony watched him leave before leaning further back in his chair. Steve was right. It was getting late, and the lights in the medbay were always very dim in order to keep Peter’s over-sensitivity at bay. He found himself yawning, but knew he probably wouldn’t fall asleep. All it took was one look at the bed, seeing Peter’s thin, shivering frame, and deep frown from unpleasant dreams, and he was wide awake. In a little while he might have someone bring him a coffee, but for now watching the kid was enough. He might not have been able to do anything for Bruce. He might not have had the power to make Peter more comfortable. He might not have even been able to mitigate the stress of his friends and teammates, but what he could do was be there. He could be there when Peter woke up. He could be there to talk him through this and bring him any tiny relief he might desire. He could be there, so that’s what he was going to do. No matter what anyone said. 

___

Peter was starting to think he couldn’t do this anymore. He needed his body to be still. Even for just a little while. It had been days since he’d escaped the darkness of his own mind, opening his eyes to see a shocked but giddy Tony Stark hovering above him. According to his mentor he had been out for almost two and a half days before that. He didn’t understand why he was still shivering. Dr. Banner had tried to explain it to him, saying something about the sheer amount of the tortuous liquid Murphy had poured into his open wounds taking a lot longer to leave his system than the last time. Peter didn’t really care why the drug was still affecting him; he just needed it to stop. 

He was currently lying on his back, eyes closed, willing his body to go to sleep. He was grateful that the stimulant was diluted enough for him to rest for short periods, but sleep never lasted long enough. He was pretty sure he’d never been so tired, and yet his heart was racing as his body continued its constant vibrations. He felt like every muscle he had was cramping, begging for rest that the shivers wouldn’t allow. The pain of his knife wounds had dulled as he began healing, and though he was grateful for that, the shivering was reaching a whole new level of unbearable. He didn’t even realize he was silently crying until a calloused thumb appeared on his face, smoothing the liquid away from where it was running past his temples and into his hairline. 

“I wish you’d tell me what’s hurting worst,” Mr. Stark’s voice came, low and concerned. Peter hadn’t been aware of any sounds before, but from the words he could only assume the man had been talking to him for a while. 

“I’m tired,” he managed without opening his eyes, the words coming out as more of a pitiful whimper than anything else. 

“What’s keeping you up, bud? I know the drugs make it hard to sleep, but even with them it’s been a good while since you’ve gotten a nap.” 

“I just...wanna be still!” It came out a weak, desperate sob, and both arms came up to cover his face. Clenching his hands was still painful from the knife wounds Bill had dug into his palms, but he ignored it, grabbing fistfulls of his hair. Almost immediately, he felt both of Mr. Stark’s hands lock around his wrists. His mentor made no effort to move his arms away, but merely squeezed gently, grounding him and letting him know he wasn’t going through this alone. 

“It’s not forever, Pete. I promise, this isn’t forever. Jeez, you’ve been so strong. I’m so proud of you.” As he spoke, Peter could feel the man running circles with his thumbs across his wrists. The action was uncharacteristically sensitive for Mr. Stark, but Peter didn’t allow himself to feel awkward about it. He needed the comfort.

“Please,” he moaned. “Lemme sleep. Jus’ make...mmm...still.” He hated that speech remained such a struggle. Why couldn’t anything be easy? 

“I’m so sorry,” Mr. Stark said. “It’ll stop.” 

“When?” He sounded pathetic. He knew that. He felt more tears running across his face, and then his back was involuntarily arching off the bed. He sucked in a sharp breath as he felt the motion tugging against the wounds on his chest and stomach. 

“Hey, calm down. Calm down, Pete. Just breathe. It can’t be too much longer. Can you lie back?” Peter didn’t think he could, but then the warm hands were on his shoulder and hip, pressing him gently back against the mattress. It was better than the arched position.

“Thanks.” 

“You don’t need to thank me.” He could tell Mr. Stark was again trying to cover the concern in his voice, and he hadn’t moved his hands, making sure Peter didn’t arch up again. “What can I do to help?” 

“End it.” It came out slurred, and he heard Mr. Stark gasp beside him. 

“You’d better be talking about the shaking, because even though you’re hurting, that won’t stop me from smacking you upside the head if you’re asking me to let you die again.” He sounded angry, but that was clearly just to cover his fear. 

“Nooo,” Peter moaned. His words still weren’t coming out right. Even as confused as he’d been between the blood loss and constant medication, Peter remembered the conversation he’d had with Mr. Stark before Bill took him the second time. He’d apparently asked his mentor to let him die. He didn’t recall that, but the man was obviously shaken by it. 

“Is that a refusal to not ask me such things, or are you agreeing with me?” 

The wording was confusing, but Peter followed. “I don’t wanna die.” 

“Well that’s a relief. I’m glad you’re over that.” Mr. Stark was definitely trying to play off his emotions by keeping his words light. It wasn’t working. Peter took a few stabilizing breaths. He knew what he had to say was important, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to open his eyes. He could still feel tears on his face. 

“You know...you know…” Great, he was stuttering again. “You know I...I never actually wanted to...to die, right?” 

Mr. Stark let out a huff. “Could’a fooled me, kid.” 

“I don’t...really...rem...rem...ember...saying...asking you…” 

“Hey,” his mentor suddenly sounded guilty, and his grip on Peter’s shoulder tightened slightly. “I didn’t mean to dig this up right now. We can talk about it when you’re feeling better, okay? There’s no rush. None at all. Just rest.” 

“No...I need...I don’t remember say...saying that. I thi...thi...think I just wanted. I just needed...it hurt so bad, and...and…” 

“Peter, it’s okay. Shh.” He knew Mr. Stark was trying to calm him down, but the issue needed to be addressed. Whatever Peter had said before was clearly torturing the man, and there was just no reason for it.

“I wanna...live. I always did. I think...I...I...I...only wanted the...the pain to go away. Do you...does that…?” 

“I’m following, Pete. You didn’t intend to ask for death, and you didn’t mean it when it came out that way. You were just looking for an escape, yeah?” 

“Yeah.” He was panting. Were the shivers getting worse? They felt worse. It was too much. 

“Thank you for letting me know that, but now I need you to take some even breaths. You’ve gotten yourself all worked up with the talking. Can you breathe with me?” 

“I wanna...I wanna...st...stop shi...shivering,” he moaned. 

“I know you do, but until that poison lets you we’re going to have to keep you hanging in there. Do you think you can listen to my breaths?” He pressed the issue again, drawing in a loud breath before exhaling slowly. Peter didn’t say anything, but Mr. Stark continued his exaggerated breathing until he was following. It didn’t stop the shaking, and his muscles were hot with agony, but the breathing did make him feel calmer. He hadn’t even realized he’d started to panic before. 

“That’s better,” Mr. Stark finally said. “Please don’t push yourself anymore. Just give your body time.” 

Peter gave a small nod, tapping the pads of his fingers against his blankets. It was one of the few things he could control. Talking was hard, stillness was impossible, and pain was his new best friend. He had no power over any of those things, but he could control his fingers. He could tap them quickly, slowly, or even to the beat of any song he could imagine. He knew it wasn’t much, but right now it felt like everything. He needed some say in his surroundings, over his own body, even if it only extended to his fingertips. He was tapping in time to the Star Wars theme song, letting it play inside his head, when Mr. Stark spoke again. He wasn’t keeping great track of time, but he thought it had been a while since the man had said anything. 

“Yeah, he’s been up all night. It’s been a bad one.” It took Peter a moment to realize the words weren’t for him. He had somehow missed another person entering the room. It was good to know that even his, usually alert, senses were failing him now.

“I really didn’t want to do this,” Dr. Banner’s voice replied. “But I don’t know, maybe it will help. He can’t keep going this way.” 

“I think it’s a good idea,” Mr. Stark said. “But let’s ask him. Peter? You with me?” 

“Ask m...me what?” He responded without opening his eyes, one hand still tucked deep in his hair, the other laying at his side where he continued to tap his fingers. 

“Bruce here is thinking about giving you an anesthetic. You usually metabolize it pretty fast, but you’ve gotta rest. 

“Yes.” 

“But, Peter…” 

“Yes,” he interrupted his mentor. “Yes. Yes.” He was being offered rest. A drug induced sleep that would, for however temporary, end the shaking. 

“Okay,” Mr. Stark said. “We can definitely do that, but…” 

“Now. Plea...please now.” He was begging, he knew it, but at the moment he didn’t care. 

“Peter,” Banner was speaking, and he felt the man’s hand on his wrist. “I’ll put you under, but you need to listen first. Are you hearing me?” He made himself nod. “Good, because this is important. You’re about due for more pain meds, but I’m not going to mix them with the anesthetic. It won’t matter while you’re asleep, but when you wake up I don’t know what your pain’s going to be like. You haven’t been unmedicated in days. Do you understand what I’m telling you? You have a choice to make.”

“Sleep,” he answered without hesitation. Pain he was used to. It sucked, but he felt like it was just a part of him now. The days of shaking and exhaustion were what made him feel like he was cracking apart. 

“Are you sure you understand what I’m saying?” 

“Yes!” He tried to shout, and felt his back arching off the bed again. It was his body’s reaction to the shaking, or pain, or something. He didn’t know, but he couldn’t control it. He let out a sad little noise of pain until Mr. Stark’s hands were back, pushing him slowly down. 

“It’s okay.” There were fingers on his cheek, brushing away more tears that he hadn’t even realized were falling. “You’re going to get a break now. Do it, Bruce.” 

“Tony, are you sure?” 

“I’m sure. Put him under. This is all too much.” 

The doctor’s hand disappeared from his wrist, but Mr. Stark never released his hold. Peter heard a slight shuffling beside him. There came a quiet hissing noise before he felt a plastic mask fitted over his mouth and nose. At the same time, his mentor’s fingers began running softly through his hair. He heard Dr. Banner’s voice, counting backwards for him from ten, but the words already sounded far away. In seconds he was gone. Sleeping without nightmares. Far from the hurt and the shaking. It was the greatest gift he had ever received.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for taking so long to post, but we've finally made it to the final chapter! I can't tell you all what a joy it's been sharing my work with you! The fact that so many of you have taken the time to read this (and leave such incredibly kind and helpful comments) has meant more to me than you can know! I feel such gratitude and love for you all! Thank you!! 
> 
> PS: If you want more, I currently have a second WIP titled: Keep Bending; Don't Break. This one is also about Peter. :)

Tony tried not to grin too noticeably as he watched Peter dig his chopsticks into a second container of Kung Pao chicken. This was the third night in the same week he had joined the Avengers in the common area for dinner, and it looked as though his appetite was finally getting back to normal. It had taken nearly three weeks for Peter to be able to get out of his bed in the medbay. His shivers had finally simmered down after the night Bruce gave him the anesthesia, and his sleep had been improving ever since. That wasn’t to say he didn’t continue to suffer from insomnia and nightmares that often bordered on violent, but Murphy’s drugs were finally a horror of the past. The pain and problems with his appetite took longer, but once Peter’s stitches had been removed and his wounds faded to ugly scars, (scars that Tony feared might never fully disappear) Bruce had given him the okay to leave his bed a few times a day. Peter had been more than ready to be back in charge of his own life by then. 

“Look at Spider Kid hogging all the chicken!” Clint complained loudly. 

“I thought you were supposed to have quick reflexes. Maybe if you’d used them you could have gotten some,” Peter spoke with a grin, unapologetically taking another large bite. Tony couldn’t have been more thrilled. Peter had been shy and quiet again at the first dinner of the week, clearly still intimidated by his heroes and worried about speaking to them outside of his suit. He had begun to warm up a little by the second time, and now he seemed willing to joke, and apparently poke fun at, his teammates. It was just another sign that he was getting back to normal and becoming comfortable around the Avengers. 

“Seems harsh,” Clint pretended to pout. 

“Sounds fair to me,” Natasha said while sticking her own chopsticks into Peter’s container. He made no move to stop her, and everyone laughed at Clint’s following whine of protest. 

Tony glanced to where Bruce was sitting in an armchair. The doctor was eating lo mein and had long since abandoned his chopsticks in favor of a fork. Tony was tempted to copy his example when the pork dumpling he was trying to eat slipped from between his sticks for the third time in a row, but the team had already made so much fun of Bruce for giving up that he wasn’t quite prepared to face the ridicule. Maybe once he was starving. 

“This okay?” he silently mouthed the words upon catching Bruce’s eye, subtly gesturing toward Peter. Earlier in the week they had discussed making sure the kid didn’t overdo it, and he was relieved when Bruce responded with a small smile and thumbs up. 

Ever since Peter had begun to properly recover, Bruce had started looking better too. Tony could tell he still hadn’t forgiven himself for what Peter had gone through, and it’s not as though Tony didn’t know exactly how that felt, but the doctor had at least begun taking care of himself again. He still wasn’t back to normal. He needed to regain a fair amount of weight, and the bags beneath his eyes, though not as severe, were still highly evident. Tony knew Bruce didn’t sleep well, always wanting to be on call in case Peter had a nightmare or needed a dose of pain medication. Luckily, the latter was becoming less and less necessary, and Peter only requested his meds when he had spent more time on his feet than he should have. Tony and Bruce both kept telling him to slow it down, but he was impatient to recover. Of course it made sense that someone as energetic and jittery as Peter would have trouble staying still for too long. Tony ultimately decided it did both him and Bruce more good than harm to see Peter up and about, especially considering where they had been less than a month before. 

“Do I have something in my teeth?” Bruce asked, causing Tony to realize he was still gazing at him. 

“Probably,” he said. “But that’s not why I was staring.” 

“Ah, then it must be my good looks.” 

Tony lowered his voice, not wanting the attention of the rest of the team, but they didn’t seem to be listening to the conversation anyway. They were all fixated on Thor, who seemed to be showing off just how many fortune cookies he could fit in his mouth at one time. “You just look better,” he said. “I was worried about you for a while there.” 

Bruce shot him a half smile. “You’re one to talk.” 

“I know, but I get to be hypocritical.” 

“And why is that?” 

“Because it makes me sound like I know what I’m talking about.” 

Bruce barked out a laugh that Tony hadn’t heard for a while. “Now that I believe. And you know, you’re looking better too. It’s almost like you slept an hour in the past week.” 

“I slept several,” he bragged. “You?” 

“I’ve gotten a few.” He paused a moment, taking another bite of lo mein and chewing thoughtfully before speaking. “Are you going to be okay?” 

Tony nodded. “If he’s okay, I’m okay. You?” 

“Same answer. But this is good.” He nodded toward where Peter had tucked his feet up on the couch, laughing through a mouthful of chicken as Thor crammed cookie number twenty-two into his mouth. 

“Really good,” Tony agreed. “But how long do you think we should let him push it?” 

“A while longer, at least. He deserves to have some fun.” 

Tony couldn’t have agreed more, and turned his attention back to the rest of the team when Thor finally reached his limit and began hacking cookie crumbs across the room. “You’re running the vacuum after this!” 

“I don’t think he knows what that is,” Rhodey laughed as the god continued his coughing fit. 

“Well he’s going to learn,” Tony said. 

Dinner continued that way for about another hour, with lots of eating, joking, and having fun at the expense of one another. It was how things had been before Peter’s kidnapping, with the only difference being that the kid was now able to join them. There was something incredibly refreshing, comforting even, about spending an easy evening at the compound after so many weeks of fear and stress. It was only after the last takeout container had been emptied that Tony climbed to his feet. Peter was curled up on the couch, looking happy and holding a pillow in his lap. He was fiddling with the stitching, which caused Tony to smile. Even now, the kid wasn’t able to sit still. However, there had been something he’d been wanting to discuss with Peter, and he knew he had to get to it before the kid ran out of steam. 

“Hey, Pete, feel like joining me in the lab a minute?” 

Peter looked surprised, but not displeased. “Oh...okay, yeah!” He tossed the pillow aside and climbed to his feet. His movements were still fairly slow and stiff, and Tony didn’t miss the slight wince that crossed his features once he was standing, but the improvement was still huge. 

When he reached Tony’s side the man wrapped an arm around his shoulders, and Peter didn’t hesitate to lean slightly into his side, allowing him to support a small amount of his weight. Tony wasn’t sure exactly when, through all of this, they had grown so comfortable together. He’d never been the touchy-feely type, and Peter had always been reserved (or as reserved as someone like Peter ever got) around him. He decided the change was a positive one when he turned them in the direction of the lab and Peter stumbled a little, sucking in a tiny gasp before allowing Tony to take a bit more of his weight. He was glad the kid felt comfortable enough to let him help, and it felt good to be doing something that made a difference. For so long he had felt powerless. 

After riding the elevator down to his lab, Tony pulled up a rolling stool from his work table. “Sit. I don’t want you on your feet any longer.” 

Peter obeyed without complaint and stared up at him. “What are we doing here?”

“I wanted to talk to you about something.” 

Peter raised an eyebrow. “That sounds cryptic.”

“It’s not. Not really. I’ve just been waiting for the right time to bring this up. How are you feeling?” 

“I’m fine,” Peter said. “But this stalling is making me nervous.” 

“Sorry.” Tony let out a breath and dragged one hand through his hair. As Peter had grown stronger, allowing Tony to spend less time at his bedside, he had begun working on a new project. He just wasn’t sure how Peter was going to react to it. “I have something I want to show you, but I want you to know that if you don’t want it my feelings aren’t going to be hurt. This is entirely up to you, okay? No pressure at all.” 

Peter looked confused, and Tony understood why. He wasn’t being the most straight-forward. “Should I be scared?” 

“No, definitely not. Just...look.” He crossed the room to a tall metal cabinet, typed in the password on its keypad, and waited for the doors to swing wide. Inside was a brand new spider suit. 

“Oh.” That’s all Peter said. There was no inflection in his voice, and Tony was immediately worried that he had made a massive mistake.

“I know we haven’t talked about your extracurricular activities since...well since everything. It’s okay if you don’t want the suit. Just say the word and I can put it away. I just thought, since...well actually you might not even know this.” He rubbed a hand over his face, struggling to find the right words as Peter continued to stare at the suit with an unreadable expression on his face. “Your old suit was destroyed. Natasha found the remains after we got you out of that place. No worries, though. This one’s better, and I reinstalled Karen into it. Her memory was untouched, so she still knows you. Everything on that front will be exactly the same.”  
Peter finally looked at him, plastering on the most obviously fake smile Tony had ever seen. “It’s...it’s really great, Mr. Stark. Thank you.” 

Tony snatched a second stool, rolling it in front of Peter and taking a seat. He got serious. “If this is too soon, or if it’s something you don’t want to discuss at all, that’s fine. I just wanted you to know you have the option.” 

Peter let out a long sigh, glancing again at the suit before looking back at Tony. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot. You know, about Spider Man. I just...I don’t know if I’m him anymore.” The words looked like they crushed him to admit. 

“Why wouldn’t you be?” 

Peter hesitated a moment before launching in, and then he was speaking so quickly Tony could barely keep up. “Because Spider Man has always been this really cool, totally awesome, fearless guy. He’s so much more than Peter Parker. He doesn’t get scared. When he takes a hit, he springs back. Becoming Spider Man was always my favorite thing in the world, because I didn’t have to be just me anymore, but ever since...ever since...when all of this happened, Spider Man and Peter got all tangled up together. Bill knew who I was and then he...that was all so bad. Spider Man took a hit, and then Peter kept him from getting back up. If I put on the suit and went out there, and then something like that happened again...I can’t go through that again.” By the time he finished he was staring at the ground and nervously picking at his cuticles. 

That was a lot. Peter had apparently been keeping these feelings bottled up for a while. “Kid, you’ve got to stop separating Spider Man and Peter Parker. Sure, you might not be a superhero every day in school or anything, but you’ve got to know that Peter is the best part of Spidey. The mask gives you confidence, but it doesn’t change who you are underneath it. And as for getting knocked down? Yeah, you did. Hard. But you absolutely got back up. I’m shocked to hear you say you didn’t. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever met, Peter. You hear that? Peter. Not Spider Man.” 

Peter looked up at him tentatively. “That’s really nice.” 

“I’m not being nice. Have I ever been known for that? I’m being brutally honest here.” 

The next words were barely above a whisper. “I’m scared.” 

“Of course you are. That was a hell of a way to find out you’re not invincible. I want you to know that it’s okay to take your time on this. I only brought it up so you’d know you had a choice.” 

“I’m not ready yet.”  
“And that’s fine,” Tony reassured him.

Peter swallowed hard. “I don’t know if I’ll ever be.” 

“Also fine. Whatever you decide.”

“Okay, just, if I did, you know, at some point, decide to be Spider Man again...Can I ever be the same? Will I be the same as I was?”

Tony chose his next words very carefully, knowing how vulnerable Peter was feeling. “No, you can’t be the same. And I’m speaking from personal experience here. It’ll be different now, but different doesn’t always mean worse.” 

“I was afraid of that. I didn’t want things to change.” 

“Do you really think anyone here is the same as before we all became...well whatever we are? Spies, gods, giant green meanies, frozen soldiers, what have you? It doesn’t matter what we used to be or where we’ve been. What matters is who we are now, and that’s the Avengers. You’re one of us, Pete. Whether or not you put that suit back on, you’re still with us. Remember what I said about being on this team? It’s not easy to get cut.” 

“Thank you for saying that.” His voice still sounded so small. 

“Don’t gotta thank me.” He stood again, crossing the room and shutting the suit away. “If you want it, it’s here. Otherwise, I won’t bring it up again.” 

“Okay.” 

“Alright,” he clapped his hands together. “Heavy talk over. Let’s get you upstairs to bed. I’m pretty sure we already overdid it today.” 

Peter didn’t argue when Tony helped him to his feet and led him back to the elevator. He had finally left the medbay and was sleeping in his regular room at the complex. By the time they got there Peter was obviously exhausted and aching. He swore he was capable of getting into his pajamas by himself, but Tony stuck around in case he changed his mind, merely turning his back until Peter let him know he had managed. When he turned around, he found the kid sitting on his bed. 

“You need anything before I leave you alone?” 

“No, I’m good.” 

“You sure? You’re looking pale, and I know you had some stiffness in your knees and hips yesterday. How’s that feeling? Do you want some meds?”

Peter smiled. “You worry too much.” 

“Not an answer.”

“It’s okay. I think I’ll feel better once I sleep. I don’t super want my mind to get all mushy again.” 

“Fair enough,” Tony said. “But let FRIDAY know if you change your mind on that or need anything at all. I don’t want you powering through if it’s hurting a lot. Got it?” 

Peter shot him a thumbs up, crawling underneath the covers and lying down. He really did look exhausted. Tony shouldn’t have let him push himself so hard. “You say the same thing every night.” 

“And I mean it every night.” He walked to the door and flipped the light switch, sending the room into darkness. “Night, Pete.” 

“Night, Mr. Stark.” 

Tony closed the door behind him on the way out of the room. He headed back toward the common area where he knew his teammates were probably still scattered. He hoped he had made the right call in showing Peter his new suit. The kid hadn’t exactly reacted positively to it, but then Tony hadn’t really expected him to. He still thought it was important that Peter knew he had the option of being Spider Man if that’s what he wanted. Tony had anticipated the fear and reluctance, but from what he knew about Peter, the kid would be swinging through the city again in a number of months. This was just another step in the healing process. Just another step toward getting Peter back. 

___

Two more months had passed since the night Mr. Stark had shown him his new spidey suit; one since he had put it on. According to the papers and social media, Queens had been thrilled to see their red and blue clad hero return after his months of absence. Even so, he had started small, patrolling only one or two nights a week for no more than two hours at a time. He stuck mostly to the smaller stuff; muggings and home burglaries, but was slowly working his way up on the danger scale. The previous week he had chased down a group of armed bank robbers without getting so much as a scratch. That, more than anything, made him believe that Spider Man had returned. It was an incredible feeling.

“Whatcha’ thinkin’?” Mr. Stark teased, ruffling Peter’s hair before taking the seat across from him on his private jet. He reclined, drink in hand, casually studying Peter from behind his sunglasses. 

“I’m thinking that taking this trip with you was a mistake.” 

“A mistake?” Mr. Stark brought a hand to his chest in a mockery of shock. “I’m wounded.” 

Peter rolled his eyes. “You’ve been teasing me the entire flight.” 

“I would never!” The man managed to spill his drink down the front of his suit in his wild gesturing, causing Peter to snort. “You think this is funny?” 

“Hilarious!” 

Mr. Stark stuck his tongue out at him before opening the console beside his seat and retrieving a thick wad of napkins. It was strange to see his mentor acting so relaxed and juvenile, but Peter didn’t mind it. Mr. Stark had been walking on eggshells around him for so long. It was nice to be back to their joking, sarcastic relationship. Although, things weren’t exactly the same. They were somehow closer than ever before; more willing to give or accept a hug or a pat on the back, and far more open with their honest thoughts and feelings. It wasn’t a bad change. 

“I can’t believe Bruce didn’t want to be here for this,” Mr. Stark said, giving up on his drenched tie and yanking it off his neck. 

“I think he wanted to stay with Natasha,” Peter said. “It seems like something might be going on there.” 

Mr. Stark barked out a laugh. “You think? They’ve been doing this weird love-dance for over a year.” 

Peter’s eyes widened. “A year?” 

“Yep, but they’re both too stubborn to say it out loud. Or chicken. I don’t know. Still think he should have come on our trip though.” 

Peter shrugged. As far as he was concerned, Dr. Banner could do whatever made him happy. He was all too aware that, though Mr. Stark was the one to sit with him and walk him through the bad moments, Dr. Banner was the person who had kept him alive. Shortly after he had begun feeling well enough to be up and about, he had found the doctor alone and thanked him sincerely for all he had done. The man’s eyes had gotten misty as he admitted that he’d been scared to death, and that seeing Peter getting well was one of the best things to ever happen to him. They’d then shared a slightly awkward, but overall nice, long hug. Peter had then assured the doctor that he was going to be fine, and encouraged him to get more rest. The man had actually listened, and in the following months seemed to return to his happier, more rested self. Peter had felt closer to the doctor ever since, so he and Mr. Stark had invited him when they’d planned their vacation. 

Mr. Stark’s jet was luxurious, to say the least, filled with snacks, movies, board games, and just about any other form of entertainment a traveler might desire. Peter had eaten his weight in cheese puffs and Twizzlers before passing out in his seat, face pressed against the window. He hadn’t meant to sleep through the rest of the flight, but before he knew it Mr. Stark was lightly shaking his shoulder. 

“Pete? Kid? Wake up. We’re here.” 

Peter sat up, wiping the sleep from his eyes. “We’re here?” 

“Yeah.” His mentor slumped into the seat beside him and gestured toward the window. “Welcome to Wakanda.” 

Peter followed his gaze and felt his eyes widen. “Woah!” The mountainous landscape below, rich with waterfalls and greenery, was quite possibly the most beautiful thing Peter had ever seen. The surrounding golden, pillar-like structures were equally impressive. 

Mr. Stark grinned at his reaction. “Nothing like New York, is it?” 

“It’s incredible!” 

“Ready to land?” 

“So ready!” 

“Hear that, Fri? My kid wants to land.” Peter didn’t mean to gasp, but the sound escaped him. He swung away from the window to stare at Mr. Stark, the view momentarily forgotten. His mentor looked alarmed. “What, what is it?” 

“What did you just say?” 

“I told FRIDAY you were ready to land. We can keep circling if you want.” 

Peter shook his head, still unsteady from surprise. “But what did you call me?” 

“Kid?” 

“That’s not what you said.” 

Mr. Stark looked thoughtful for about one second before Peter watched something he never thought he’d see. The man blushed. “Oh, jeez! I’m sorry, Pete. Was that strange? It just came out.” 

Peter felt himself beginning to smile. “Is that how you think of me?” 

“I...yeah. I guess I do. Not sure when it started, but it’s been rattling around in my head a while that you’re my kid. I know it’s not true, but…” 

“It’s true,” Peter interrupted firmly. 

“It’s true?” 

“Yeah. If you want it to be.” 

“I’d like that a lot, kid.” Mr. Stark tucked his arm around his shoulder as the plane began its descent. 

“Your kid,” Peter corrected. 

They were both grinning as they landed in Wakanda.


End file.
